Breaking The Ice
by Adara Foxglove
Summary: Steve Rogers wakes up after 70 years to find that everything has changed. SHIELD isn't going to let him flounder through the 21st century alone, and assigns Nicole Dugan-the granddaughter of Dum Dum Dugan-to help. Living together isn't easy, considering she has her own secrets, but Nicole is bound and determined to help. Even if Steve doesn't want it.
1. Chapter 1

**So this is my first stab at what will end up being a whole superhero adventure. It takes place following the events of CA:TFA but before the Avengers. Let me know what you think, as per usual.**

**I own nothing.**

**Adara.**

Chapter One:

_May 08, 1999, Location: Outer Courtyard, Royal Palace, Asgard_

"_It isn't fair, is it?" A young girl sat on the edge of a fountain, her feet splashing in and out of the water as several fish darted around her toes. Their golden scales caught the flash of the sun and sent rippling waves of color dancing through the stone basin. _

"_What is that?" Her companion asked, undertones of curiosity barely perceivable through the coolly amused mask he wore. It reminded her of a still river, which almost always had deeper—unseen—undercurrents._

"_What your father, the Allfather, said about the frost giants. I'm sure that not all of them wanted to plunge Earth into a new ice age." She answered, fingers lifting up to scratch at the back of her head. The long red hair was pulled back into a tight, intricate braid and it all itched. She much preferred it down, or pulled into a high bun like her mother. But then, when in Rome… or Asgard technically._

"_And what makes you think that?" Green eyes looked over at her in interest then, genuine interest, which was nice because he was so seldom sincere. Always joking, or mocking, at least with his parents, brother and friends. She liked that he was usually sincere with her._

_She pursed her lips at that question, kicking her feet slightly in the cool water before she turned so that she was completely facing him. Mother always said that you should look someone in the eyes when you wanted to have a serious conversation with them. It was polite. _

"_If you think about it, there had to have been… what, hundreds of thousands? Millions? Not all of them could have been war mongering, there had to have been women and children. They're people, aren't they? And people have different opinions of everything so I don't think it's too hard to assume that some of them just wanted to be left alone. And now they're all branded as monsters." She shrugged again, her eyes turning troubled. "All we really want is to be left alone." _

_He watched her face fall, the conflicted expression turning inward, turning contemplative. He knew exactly where her mind was going, and he… didn't want to see it happen again. She was only thirteen, still a child by anyone's standards, and a child shouldn't have such a weight on their shoulders. He considered different ways to cheer her up, he was a master at distraction after all, but they all seemed cheap. Instead he sat down on the edge of the fountain so that they were beside one another, and bent low to pull off his boots._

"_That is a very Midgardian way to think Nicole." He murmured instead, a slight smirk on his face as she looked back up at him with a familiar spark in her brown eyes. _

"_I am Midgardian, so it stands to logic that I would have Midgardian thoughts." She answered, wriggling her toes as one of the fish started nibbling at it. She watched it dart away, a small smile trying to break across her stern face. _

"_Careful now that you don't let Thor hear you say that, we'll never get him to shut up." He was rolling his pant legs up then, twisting around so that his feet were easing into the cool water as well. "But if it's all the same, I think you're right."_

_Her innocent features widened in surprise, a slight blush lifting to her cheeks. "You do?"_

_He nodded at her, winking conspiratorially as he combed his fingers through his black hair. "I do. It's hard to generalize an entire population based on exposure to only a small piece. But the war is still fresh in the minds of my people, they can still easily get riled up about it so it might be best if we keep these thoughts to ourselves."_

_Nicole appeared pensively thoughtful at that, a frown turning her lips into a pout. "And that's not fair either." _

_He seemed to consider her words for a moment, brows knitting together in a serious expression. "No, it really isn't fair. But, the world isn't always fair." _

_They sat in silence for a few moments then, enjoying the warmth of the sun and the cool of the water as well as each other's company. He found it odd, really, that he—Loki prince of Asgard—would come to care about the stray child that his mother seemed to be so interested in but here they were. The child was interesting on many levels though; more than just the fact that she had an innate ability to control fire, and she wasn't entirely human, but she also possessed an unusual eye for looking at things. And she wasn't nearly as oafishly boisterous as Thor and his friends were; Nicole was quite content with sitting in silence. But then, the quiet wasn't always the best thing for the child. _

"_You know, we still have a few hours before your lessons with mother. Why spend it sitting here?" She arched an eyebrow at that, a doubtful expression that belied the playful glint in her eye._

"_Lady Frigga is getting quite tired of me coming into my lessons dirty." She warned with mock gravity, crossing her arms with a pointed glance that seemed to place all of the blame on him. Loki just chuckled, easily rolling to his feet and offering one hand with a familiarly devilish grin on his face._

"_Well then, we'll have to do our absolute best to stay clean won't we?"_

IOI

_June 13, 2011, SHIELD Base: Triskelion, Location: Washington DC_

The staff was an extension of her body, it was defensive and—if used properly—could debilitate an enemy before they even drew within striking distance. When using it, one would be well off to avoid letting a single foot touch the ground. Easier said than done, in fact it was a technical impossibility unless that person could fly, but the idea behind the saying was solid. Never stop moving. Never let yourself get tired, get slow. The staff might be a part of her, but it could only do so much if she wasn't careful.

_Clack. Clack. Clack._

She spun, wrist rotating as her body danced to her own rhythm. In and out, strike and defend, it was so familiar that her muscles knew what to do and her mind lulled into a false sense of security. A sense of ease that would allow it to drift. That was dangerous; her enemy was not one to be underestimated. She would need all of her senses alert and ready if she wanted to keep her ass from being handed to her.

"Sloppy." The blonde woman across from her smirked, sweat plastering her hair to her face. Nicole offered a savage grin in response, allowing herself to fall back and gather some distance.

"Don't tell me you're getting tired, Dugan." Her partner challenged, twisting the twin batons in her hands and dropping into a low stance.

"Not on your life Morse." She began spinning her staff, taking a few steps forward. "_Venez à moi, vache._"

Agent Barbara Morse rolled her eyes at the light banter, tightening her grip on her batons and loosening up her muscles. Dugan had to be one of her favorite sparring partners, one of the few who could give her a real challenge. But then the redhead was coming at her like a crazy ten-armed windmill and Bobbi found herself lying flat on her back.

Nicole felt a swell of victory as she watched Bobbi go down, panting as she leaned against her staff for support. Offering a hand, the redhead pulled her fellow agent to her feet. They both looked absolutely exhausted; sweat dripped out of their every pore and bruises dotted their bodies.

"_Sorcière laide_." Bobbi spat back at her, causing Nicole to burst out laughing.

"Love you too, pumpkin. One day you'll beat me." Twisting the staff absently between her fingers, Nicole tossed it up in the air with a spiral before catching it and returning it to the shelves. For the sake of personal safety, she used softer, wooden weapons than her own personal ones. For instance her own staff was a lightweight titanium bo-staff that she only used during missions.

Bobbi rolled her eyes, tossing her own forearm length sticks into a pile and reaching for a towel. They had been sparring for what had to have been over an hour, their savage fighting drawing more than a slight crowd of newer agents—who watched with a sense of awe and fear—as well as some of the more seasoned ones who were in the process of divvying out bet winnings. In all honesty Bobbi was more than impressed by Dugan's skill, even though she really shouldn't be. The red haired agent who was currently lounged on a bench had been assigned Melinda May as her SO, and the Calvary didn't pull any punches during training. She expected nothing but the best from her trainees, and so far Dugan had been her star pupil.

"Why are you looking at me like that? You're not gonna kiss me are you, because I don't think your hubby would like that." Nicole offered wryly, looking over from her seat.

Bobbi offered her friend a thin smile at that, shaking her head before dropping down next to the woman. "I actually think he would. But no, I was just thinking about something."

"I thought I smelled smoke—ow." Groaning slightly at the firm punch placed on her shoulder, Nicole turned so that she was facing the woman. "How are things on the home front?"

"They're—" Both women looked up at the shadow that fell over them, jumping to their feet in the presence of a higher ranked agent.

"Ma'am." They nodded in unison, sharing an uneasy look. Dressed in a nice suit and looking distinctly uncomfortable, Maria Hill possessed an air of brisk professionalism that was more than slightly frosty. Her brown eyes slipped over Bobbi dismissively before locking on Nicole, who was ever the picture of the attentive agent. Agent Hill thrust out a black folder, the action earning her a surprised look.

"Director Fury wants to see you immediately." Hill snapped, hands falling to clasp behind her back as soon as the folder was taken.

"Do I have the time for—" Nicole began, fingers tracing over the crisp corners of the folder.

"Immediately, Agent Dugan." And with that Hill was walking out the door again leaving the pair to share astonished looks.

Bobbi dropped her eyes down to the folder that Nicole was holding; it was black, unmarked, and thick. "What the hell is that?"

Nicole lifted the cover, eyes scanning over the contents. Her eyebrow began a steady climb to her hairline, lips pursing into a scowl before her jaw literally dropped. "I have to go."

Without preamble, without even removing the towel that was around her neck, Nicole was practically sprinting to the doorway. Several agents scattered away from her as she moved, a sudden urgency filling her steps and a trail of restlessness following behind. She didn't even hear Bobbi call out her name behind her, though she knew that there would be questions later. Hell, there were questions now as she began flicking through the file.

Name: Rogers, Steven Grant Age: 26 Status: Alive

There were more basic demographics listed below that line, covered by a paper clipped picture of a man so skinny he bordered on being emaciated that was black and white and frayed long the corners. That wasn't what had gotten her, nor was it the secondary picture of a much taller, muscular man with the same face. What had her blood running cold was the fact that the file listed him as being alive, when that was utterly impossible.

Steven Rogers went MIA almost seventy years ago during his final mission against the Red Skull when he crashed an advanced jet into the ocean. She knew that, she knew it for a fact because her grandfather had told the story to her almost every night when she was a kid. And considering the fact that her grandfather had been one of his Howling Commandos, she figured if anybody would know, it'd be him.

"Agent Dugan, if I may have a word?" She looked up as somebody put themselves directly in her path; her eyes registering the bald head and the glasses first.

Her feet slowed so that she was standing in front of the man, snapping the file closed and tucking it under her arm. "Agent Sitwell, what can I do for you?"

She didn't much like Jasper Sitwell, even if she couldn't exactly say why. There was something about him, his almost avian features, which set her off. It wasn't even anything that he had ever done or said to her—the man had been nothing but cordial—but she just didn't like him. Being around him, holding a conversation with him, made her feel greasy.

"I have some questions about your latest field report, I was hoping you could clear them up." He was carrying a folder of his own, manila this time, to reveal papers with her own scrawling handwriting filling the lines.

Nicole frowned at that, dark eyes flicking from the paperwork to the red numbers of the clock on the wall. "I would love to, Sir, but Director Fury is expecting me at the moment."

Her words were polite, respectful, but she started to hedge away from the man. He noticed. "Are you being sent on another operation?"

"I'm not entirely sure. All I know is that Hill told me he needed to see me and that it was immediate." She didn't miss the look of distaste that flitted across his features. "But, if you want to highlight the parts you need clarification on and leave it in my mailbox, I'll take a look."

Her offer seemed to appease him, at least a little, and Sitwell nodded as he snapped the file close. Taking a step to the side, he made a slight gesture for her to go… as though she had needed his permission. Nicole kept her smile firmly in place as she bid the bald man farewell, waiting until her back was to him fully and she was well on her way down the hall before allowing the scowl to take over her features. Yes—technically—Sitwell was a higher clearance than she was and yes, _technically_, he was a superior officer but she hated his attitude. Always that slight sneer on his face as though he was better than everyone else.

"Put this on." A voice called in warning, giving the redhead just enough time to catch the black sweater that was being thrown at her. Switching the file between her hands as she shoved her arms through the sleeves, she pulled the soft cotton material over her head and let it fall down around her body. It was slightly baggy on her—especially across the chest, but it succeeded in covering up the sports bra she had been wearing, as well as her bare midriff.

"Thanks." She nodded over to the woman who had tossed it to her, now wearing only a white tank top. One of Fury's top agents, the woman was waiting casually outside of his office door. Waiting for her no doubt.

"They're waiting for you." Nicole swallowed a nervous lump in her throat as the black door—everything in SHIELD was black just about—was pulled open. The office itself had a view like none other, ceiling to floor windows all along one wall, several huge monitors on another, and what had to be the largest desk she had ever seen in her life. Granted, being the director of one of the world's largest intelligence agencies did have its perks.

Director Fury was seated behind his desk looking every bit the lethal, secretive spy that she knew him to be. That wasn't entirely surprising—she was in his office after all—but what Nicole did find interesting were the two people that were flanked on either side. Dressed in a crisp suit and seemingly humming a jazzy tune to himself was Fury's right hand man, Agent Phillip Coulson. On the left was a sandy haired man wearing a purple trimmed black uniform. He had reflective sunglasses on his face in spite of the dim light, and the fact that they were indoors.

She wanted to make a comment, the sarcastic words blistering the tip of her tongue, but perhaps now was not the best time.

"You wanted to see me Director?" She asked instead, hands behind her back and pressing the file into her spine.

"Yes I did, Agent Dugan. I take it you've had some time to see what was in the file Hill gave you?" She unfolded the limbs then, to display the folder.

"I looked through it a little bit on my way up here. But… I don't understand Sir. Captain America was lost and presumed dead seventy years ago. Why the sudden interest in it now?" Phil grinned slightly at her question, excitement obvious in his eyes. His counterpart on the other hand was as stone faced as a statue, arms still crossed over his chest.

"Earlier this week, we received word from a Russian oil rig that discovered some wreckage in the ice. Among that wreckage they found this." Director Fury made a gesture with his hand, causing one of the monitors to light up and display an image. After a questioning look at the man, Nicole approached the monitor with a curios look on her face, eyes drifting over it as she tried to process what she was seeing.

It looked like the wing of an airplane, but not any design that she had ever seen. It was dark metal from what she could tell, and the carrier itself was still mostly submerged in the ice with red lights leading up to it.

"Okay, that's great but what is it? Other than the obvious that is." With a look over her shoulder, Nicole quirked a curious brow as Fury rose from his seat, good eye fixed on the screen just behind her.

"This is an advanced airplane, the technology of which hasn't been fully inventoried yet. What's so odd about it is the fact that it's been frozen in the ice for the past seven decades." He lifted a hand, cycling through the pictures that depicted the interior of the plane.

He stopped on one that showed a door. Only, it wasn't really the door that was the important part rather the symbol embossed on it. A red skull over six perfectly symmetrical tentacles.

"You believe that this is Schmidt's plane." She breathed in awe, mind racing. "The one he tried to escape in."

"We know for a fact that it is, Nicole." Phil's words brought her gaze away from the computer screen. He spoke with much more familiarity to her than Director Fury did, but then they did live in the same building. And they had adjacent parking spots.

"Agent Dugan what we are about to reveal to you is available to agents given level seven clearance. Consider this your promotion as we put you on a new mission." Fury swung his one eye down to her, and she had to admit that even in light of her impromptu promotion she was creeped out by the intensity in his look.

"After this disclosure, you will find your SO and fill out the necessary release forms, as well as the confidentiality agreements. Afterwards you will report to Coulson directly; he is taking over as your handler." It was all getting a little too cryptic, cloak and dagger for her, but Nicole found herself nodding along just the same.

Her braid hit her shoulders as she spun around to face the three men entirely, fingers clutching anxiously at the folder. It suddenly felt heavier. "Understood, Sir. But will someone please tell me what the hell is going on?"

Phil stepped forward then, his movement drawing the entirety of her attention. "What we found in that plane was not only access to HYDRA weaponry and information regarding Schmidt's use of the Tesseract—his power source—but we also found… well, see for yourself."

The monitor display shifted focus again, this time changing to a live security video. It was in the SHIELD med bay, an area that was walled off from any outside visitors as doctors and nurses ran around anxiously. Their patient was a large, muscular man attached to so many different machines and tubes that she felt herself cringing in sympathy. Nicole had never liked being in hospitals before.

"_I can't believe that he survived this long. And his muscles haven't atrophied at all." One nurse gasped in surprise, bending low to inspect the man's pulse._

"_Don't you know who this is? Of course he survived." The doctor scolded slightly, walking down towards the end of the bed to pull up a medical chart. As soon as that happened, Nicole was given an obstructed look at the face of the unconscious figure on the hospital bed. _

Blonde hair was combed back from a well-defined face, revealing a strong jaw and straight nose. She… she knew that face! She knew it from countless pictures that her grandfather would spend hours poring over as he recounted her with tale after tale. She knew it from the display at the Smithsonian that they had visited every Sunday since she was old enough to walk until she had moved down to Georgia. She knew that man's face like she knew her own, her grandfather's.

"Oh… my god." The file fell from numb fingers to spill over the floor. "That's Captain America."

"He somehow survived the crash, and was preserved in the ice." Phil informed her, as the man in sunglasses easily scooped up the papers.

"He's been kept in a state of unconsciousness as our medical staff tries to figure out the how and why, but eventually he will be woken up. When that happens, Agent Dugan, yours is going to be the first face that he sees. You are the closest thing to a familiar face Captain Rogers is going to have, and he's going to need a friend. Someone to stay with him, and keep him out of trouble while he adjusts." Fury's words went right over her head for the first two seconds before making a second pass that eventually sank into her brain.

"Me, sir? Wouldn't it be better to have someone more experienced? A therapist or historian?" The dark, foreboding figure shook his head and circled back towards his desk.

"All things considered Dugan, you're the best person that we have for the job. And it's not only because of the relationship between your family and the Captain. You are also one of the few individuals that we have here capable of holding their own against Captain Rogers should things turn violent. And of those individuals, you are the best fit." Her jaw dropped open at that, brow furrowing slightly at the implications of that statement.

"With all due respect sir, I don't think that Captain Rogers is going to turn violent against SHIELD. Not after we explain everything to him." It wasn't his type; from what her grandfather had told her he was the epitome of a chivalrous, cordial young man.

Fury inclined his head at her words, fingers steepled before him. "No, I don't think so either. But nonetheless, I want to have someone prepared for the worst."

"We will have therapists and historians to talk with him, bring him up to speed but there are many small nuances that they won't be able to explain. And he could use a friend." Phil added more reassuringly. Unwillingly Nicole glanced back to the sleeping figure on the bed, the doctors having left him in peace. She couldn't actually believe what she was seeing; one of her childhood heroes was actually alive… one of her grandfather's best friends.

"Wh—I am honored Director. But what's the game plan when he does wake up? He's going to be incredibly disoriented." She spoke after what seemed like ages, resting her chin in the palm of her hand.

"The plan is to move him into a room designed to look exactly like a 1940's hospital. You're going to play the role of his nurse until we're ready to break the news to him." Fury answered, giving a slight nod to the sandy haired man who was approaching. "At the moment Captain Rogers is located at our New York facility. We've established an apartment there for him, where you will be staying as well. Your job until then is to get your things packed up, and to read up on that file."

Nicole took the folder that was offered to her again, looking at it as though it were a poisonous viper that was about to strike. So… she would be moving out of the city, into a much larger, much more crowded city. Thrilled was not exactly the word she would use to describe herself right now, especially considering the fact that she was being given less than a week's notice. A week's notice to completely clear out her apartment and move into a new one with a man. Not that she hadn't lived with a man before, but this was still… huh.

"Go find May, she'll have everything sorted out." Phil assured, probably reading the overwhelmed look in her eyes.

"Y—yes Sir. Is there anything else?" Fury looked thoughtfully up from his computer screen, eye so dark that it looked black even in the light.

"Dismissed, Agent."

IOI

"Sign here, and here." May didn't look up as she passed over the clip board, finger tapping near two blank lines. "This is your disclosure statement, and this is to get you processed for level seven clearance."

Nicole took the clipboard just long enough to scribble little more than a line as a signature. She used to be able to legibly sign her name, but after all of the papers she'd been handed in the past hour and a half her hand was cramping and she couldn't put in any semblance of an effort. Instead she just let the occasional tap of the keyboard lull her brain into a state of pleasant non-feeling. After a quick shower, and a stop by her mailbox where—true to his word—Sitwell had left a copy of her previous mission report, she'd gone straight to the corner desk. May hadn't even looked up at her approach, the woman had simply slid over a small forest's worth the paper work.

They weren't even half way through it.

"I feel like I need some liquor to get through this." Nicole groaned, resisting the urge to bang her head against the desk. May just looked at her then, features as impassive as the redhead had ever known them to be and reached for another stack of papers.

"Fill out all pertinent health information here, here and here." She flipped through the papers, eyes scanning the small, blockish text in confusion.

"Doesn't SHIELD already have this information on database?" It was a pertinent question, with more than a small amount of whining in her voice.

"Do you remember the emails I sent you for the past six months?" May inquired lightly, her voice steadily even. "About how we needed to renew your paperwork?"

Nicole felt her face flush with heat, pouting slightly as she looked down. "Paperwork sucks."

May gave her the look again, the one that suggested that the senior agent would like nothing more than to jump over the desk and throttle her, but was too composed to do so. For which Nicole was infinitely grateful, because neither her ego nor her ass had recovered from the last whipping that had been so liberally allocated to it. She remembered all those years ago, how excited she had been to learn that the Cavalry was going to be her SO. Back when she was just a rookie fresh out of the academy with a black eye from a fistfight just before graduation. Nicole had thought she'd known how to fight… May had proven her wrong.

Even with her Asgardian training the redhead had been laid out flat in less than a minute.

It had been a learning experience to say the least… for the both of them. Nicole had become a ruthless fighter afterwards, mastering the Northern Shaolin style of kung-fu directly at the woman's tutelage as well as several other styles including staff fighting. She'd also learned incredible breathing support to help control her abilities. And May had learned quite a few interesting things about her pupil as well; the young woman was an incredibly intelligent biochemist, and would have been just as well placed in Science and Technology had the woman not been so adamant on entering Operations. May had questioned Dugan's choice multiple times, even going as far as accusing her of just trying to imitate her grandfather which was when she learned perhaps the most interesting thing about the woman that there was.

She was gifted with super human abilities; hardier than a normal person and with the gift to control fire Nicole was a prized field operative. Once she had learned how to control her temper and think things through before acting rashly that was. Not that she would ever admit it to the girl, but May had enjoyed having her as a trainee, and would even go as far as to say that being her handler hadn't been too unbearable. With the exception of the paperwork that the redhead ferreted herself out of.

It would be a little disappointing to have her relocated to New York.

"You're going to do fine." The pen froze at those unexpected words; an assurance from Melinda May was one of the last things she had been imagining she would hear. Rubbing tiredly at her eyes, Nicole was wondering to herself whether she had imagined the whole thing when she felt the probing weight of the older woman's gaze on her body.

"You really think so?" She swallowed, scribbling down her next-of-kin information.

May didn't answer for a few moments, content to just stare at her until Nicole wanted to fidget. "You were trained well, and you've got a head for these sort of things. You possess something that a lot of our field agents lack, Dugan. You're sincerely likable. And from what I've been privy to, the partner they're giving you can see through falsities with relative ease. That's why you're best suited for this, because you won't lie to him."

"I… think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me." The redhead noted, succeeding in causing the smallest twitch that could barely be called a smile to curve May's lips.

"It's more a complement to me than you." The smile dropped as she took the papers, only to replace them with another set. "These are going home with you, they're an inventory list for insurance purposes. Is there anything you would like to requisition for the new apartment?"

Nicole considered that thoughtfully, nose wrinkling in concentration. She was comfortable with all of the things that she had, and couldn't entirely foresee any other immediate needs that she couldn't just buy on her own. But there was one thing that she'd always wanted, and just hadn't had the room for. "A piano would be nice. Nothing too fancy, but I'd appreciate a small one."

"A… piano?" May confirmed, fingers pausing over the keyboard.

Nicole shrugged in embarrassment at that, looking back down at the papers. "Personal recreation."

"I'll put in the requisition. SHIELD will send you with two agents to help with the packing. You'll also want to clear out your personal locker here. Once you get to New York, the Bank will be your office of operations." She nodded at that, grateful that she already had her workout bag with her. "Your uniform and equipment has already been sent."

"Alright, cool deal. I guess I'll head home and get started on my homework. Oh, Sitwell wanted me to look through this as well," She waved the manila mission report. "Do you want me to forward it to you when I get it done?"

"Give it to Coulson, he'll be your handler after this, he can put up with it now." There was the slightest hints of exasperation in her words and—dare she suggest it—fondness? Nicole bit back the cheeky grin as she climbed to her feet, stretching out her back and cramping hand.

"Aye aye Cap'n." With a cocky salute that just earned her another glare transmitting barely restrained violence, the redhead had her bag around her shoulder and was sliding the files between her clothes. The next stop was to her locker, where a box was already waiting.

Nicole felt the slightest bit of nostalgia as she began to toss random things into her box; spare clothes, combat boots, a few emergency rations… the silver framed photograph of her mother's wedding photo, pictures of her cousins, her grandparents, her aunt and uncle. The latter were photographs taped to the door, and placed in the box with more care. The last thing, the piece de resistance, was her hat. It was an old hat, an antique if you really thought about it, a bowler hat with a worn leather strap that looked like it had been through war.

It had, been through war actually. Multiple wars, multiple battles. Her grandfather had given it to her just before they'd moved to Georgia, when she'd been a scared kid. He had loved this hat, had never taken it off until that day, and it was her single most prized possession. It also fit her head perfectly, which was really just a cosmic sign at this point.

"So you've been reassigned." Bobbi leaned casually against the locker, arms nestled under her breasts.

"To New York. Effective immediately, I have a week to get my bags packed and my apartment cleared out." She confirmed, trying to fit the lid onto the box. The awkward shape of the boots and photos guaranteed her efforts a lesson in futility and with a slight shrug the lid was pitched into the trashcan.

Bobbi was not impressed, and more than mildly put out that she would be losing one of her favorite sparring partners. "On a top secret mission that you can't share."

"You're not level seven. Sorry hon." Though she was just as sad to be leaving for the next year, Nicole couldn't help the surge of pride that went through her. She _did_ just receive a promotion—which would include a pay raise—and was being assigned to basically hang out with Captain-fucking-America.

It was all she could do to keep herself from screaming like a fangirl. Nicole could only imagine how Phil was handling this news as well, and suddenly the slight bouncing and the humming made sense. Not only was his childhood idol—and he seriously made her look downright adjusted in his adoration—alive, but he was a part of the team that would be overseeing him. Even if it was only in a very minor way, she knew that Fury would consult the man when he tried to figure out how exactly Captain Rogers was going to fit into the world again.

"Anyway, I have to go. SHIELD is apparently sending me two agents to help with packing, but you're more than welcome to join as well." Fishing the car keys out of her bag, Nicole carried her box in one hand as she reached out for the door.

Bobbi cut her off and opened it for her, rolling her eyes when the redhead gave a sheepish grin in thanks. "And by join you mean do your paperwork. I already saw Sitwell dropping the folder in your box. There's no way in hell I'm getting wheedled into that again."

Nicole laughed at that, backing out of the doorway to flip the blonde woman the bird. "_Aller en enfer, salope._"

"_Je vais dire bonjour à votre mère pendant que je suis là!_" Bobbi called back, waving with a sweet smile. She could still hear the laughter even through the closed door.

IOI

"Agent Dugan, it is three o'clock in the morning and you are legitimately three floors down from me. What was so important that it couldn't wait until morning?" Phillip Coulson kept odd hours, with his job he had to, but at three in the morning he was almost always asleep if he wasn't on assignment.

And when he was woken up by an agent at three in the morning, his general good graces could not be relied upon.

"But Phil… Phil. It's Captain America." She answered, the excitement in her voice making it vibrate with barely restrained energy.

Coulson allowed himself a smile at that, as tired as he was, and dropped his hand back against the pillow.

"I know."

IOI

Translations: (French)

_Venez à moi, vache. _Come on, cow.

_Sorcière laide_. Ugly witch.

_Aller en enfer, salope. _Go to hell, bitch.

_Je vais dire bonjour à votre mère pendant que je suis là!_ I'll say hello to your mother while I'm there!


	2. Chapter 2

**Okay, so this story got over fifty views in just one week and you guys are seriously the best things ever. Like this makes me so happy, you don't even know! I love you all so freaking much! :D **

**Anyway, without further ado here's the second chapter, and as always let me know what you guys think!**

**Adara.**

Chapter Two:

_1945, Location: Somewhere over the Arctic_

"_You know I still don't know how to dance." There was a half-smile on his face as he pulled the compass out of his pocket, flipping open the lid and setting it on the panel right above the radio. He wanted hers to be the last face that he saw before the end._

"_I'll show you how." Peggy had tears in her voice then, though she was trying so hard to hide them. She was trying so hard to be strong for him when she didn't have to be. He was alright with this, he really was because there was somebody waiting for him._

_I'm sorry that you had to wait for me Buck, I know it was supposed to be me and you until the end of the line. Hopefully you won't be too mad that I missed my stop._

"_I'll show you how, Steve." Peggy almost sobbed, "Just be there."_

_The ground was coming up closer. He wish that they'd had more time. That they had the time to go out dancing, that there could have been something more than just a quick kiss on the jeep._

"_We'll have the band play something slow." He promised, voice coming out so calm. So peaceful. "I'd hate to step on your…"_

_The radio went out at the first jarring impact, sending him jerking from his seat as the plane dived nose first into the ocean. When an unstoppable force meets an immovable object, there was always collateral damage as made evident by the compass that went flying before knocking into the far wall. The water crashed in through the broken windshields, the strengthened glass not enough to keep the greedy fingers of water at bay._

_Everything was so cold, and he clung to the memory of Peggy's warm features, the intensity of her eyes, for as long as he could manage. Those eyes were the last thing he saw when the water swallowed him whole and the darkness claimed him._

_Then there was nothing._

IOI

_June 22, 2011, SHIELD Base: The Bank, Location: New York_

Something was wrong. Everything looked right, god knew he'd been in enough hospitals to know what they looked like, but there was still something wrong. He just… couldn't put his finger on it. The bed was perhaps a little more comfortable than he'd been used to, but then he'd been sleeping on military cots and hard ground for the past couple of years now. Was it… was it the fact that he was alive? Because he had definitely not been expecting that.

When the plane had crashed into the ocean he'd thought he was a goner for sure and yet here he was, it was sunny out, and he was alive and breathing.

"Philly's have managed to tie it up four to for, but the Dodgers have three men on…" Wait. That sounded familiar. An image came to mind then, the sight of crowds cheering at the stadium, a huge hotdog in his hand, Bucky beside him with that big goofy smile on his face.

_Oh god, Bucky_. It hurt to think of his best friend, and he immediately shied away from that train of thought. Sitting up, he pressed the heel of his hand into his eyes until he saw stars exploding behind the closed lids.

Focus on what was important; why was the radio on and reporting on a baseball game that he had been to years ago?

Where was he?

"Good morning." Blue eyes snapped up at that, landing on the frame of the woman who had just walked in. She was dressed like an army nurse, long red hair curling around a pretty face with bright red lipstick. There was something off about the way she walked though, an unspoken tension in her frame an uneasiness in her steps. And those heels she was wearing… a woman on her feet wearing high heels all day? They would have to be killing her by now and she didn't even look a little uncomfortable. "Or should I say good afternoon?"

"Where am I?" He demanded with a slight growl, not missing the way her eyes darted to the door for a split second as she seemed to steel herself. His first thought was HYDRA, but he didn't want to just attack an innocent dame until he had a definite answer.

"You're in a recovery room in New York city." She answered easily, batting long lashes at him and giving him a disarming smile. There was something hauntingly familiar about the nurse, the way she walked closer to his bed with her hands resting leisurely at her side. Something about the set of her eyes, and the curve of her nose.

But he didn't believe her. "Where am I really?"

The nurse seemed thrown at that one, a mildly panicked look on her face for all of one heartbeat before it cooled into that still polite, innocent expression. "I'm afraid I don't understand."

So. She wanted to play the dumb card then.

"The game; it's from May, 1941." The color drained from her already pale features at that, making them appear even more sallow. "I know, because I was there. Now I'm going to ask you again, where am I?"

He was out of the bed then, advancing on the woman. In her heels she was almost as tall as him, and she refused to cower beneath his glare. Any other circumstance and he might have been impressed by that, but as her fists clenched at her side he just felt angry. He didn't know where he was, what had happened, or how long he'd been unconscious.

And he had a date to keep.

"Captain Rogers, I need you to calm down." Her tone switched completely, the breathy sighs hardening into something much sterner. It only set him off further.

"Now, I'm gonna ask again; who are you?" He snapped, looking behind her as the door opened and two armed individuals stepped in. He tensed, body falling into a defensive stance as he prepared to strike. He wouldn't hit a woman—hell he'd do what he could to protect her from the fight that was about to go down—but the men behind her were fair game.

They came forward, and they were easily thrown back. The hole that he punched through the wall with their bodies revealed a long, dark hallway filled with more of them. His attention cut to the brown eyed nurse, who was watching with an impressed look on her face and—surprisingly—annoyance.

"Captain Rogers, wait." He didn't bother to listen to her, long strides taking him to the doorway before the men could recover. He did hear an annoyed swear in the background. "I fucking knew this shit wasn't going to work. All agents, code 13. I repeat, all agents code 13."

As soon as those words came on the overhead speakers he picked up the pace. His legs pumped with a strength that he still hadn't gotten used to, not really. Not even after those few years of pushing the enhancements of Erskine's serum to the limits. He still couldn't corner well, and ended up crashing into a crowd of stunned people, most of them wearing nice business suits. It didn't matter, they didn't matter, he just needed to _get out._

He needed to figure out his location and then he could go from there.

"Captain Rogers!" At the harsh tones of his name he gave himself one chance to look back, surprised to find the nurse from earlier chasing after him. Her shoes were nowhere to be seen now, and her hair was streaming out behind her.

That was the only look he was willing to allow himself, and turning his attention back to where he was going, he ran harder. He saw a door, the word _exit_ displayed overhead in bright red letters and a thread of hope filled him. Steve latched onto that hope, clutched it greedily to his chest and narrowed his eyes on that doorway. He had to run faster.

As it happened, he ran out the front door.

It was warm outside, a sweltering heat that was as familiar to him as the scent of the city around him. So, the red haired nurse hadn't been lying and he was in New York. Small comfort that, he still didn't trust anyone right now.

Booted feet slapped against damp pavement—it had rained recently—but he paid it little mind. He could barely feel the rebounding force against his shins and knees as he ran. He wanted to get to familiar ground, he _needed _to get to high ground, just somewhere where he could stop and take stock of everything.

Cars beeped angrily at him—nothing new in the city—but when he allowed himself to pause right in the middle of the road to glance at them… there was something _wrong._ He had never seen cars that looked like that before, they were too sleek, too rounded to belong in his time. And yet they were so commonplace that they had to be the societal norm. He ran farther down the street, faster, arms and legs working like pistons as his lungs gathered as much oxygen as they could manage to push him forward.

The people crossing the street, on their bikes, with their umbrellas, didn't seem to really notice him at first. In fact, his existence was only acknowledged if he drew near. It was as though the chaotic thoughts and actions going on around him were infections, and the civilians could pick up on them as soon as they were in close enough proximity.

He was turning to Times Square, and there were… screens everywhere? This… this wasn't New York! At least, not like he had ever seen it before. The silhouette was compellingly accurate, even if everything looked wrong. His legs slowed, eventually stopping, and he spun around in confusion. Blue eyes drew in everything that he could manage, mind trying to process what he was seeing.

He had gotten beaten up in that alley once, but now it was chalked full of garbage, so much so that it was forcibly overflowing from the dumpsters and into the street itself. The scenery kind of looked like one of those cheap dime-store paperbacks that Bucky had been so fond of reading. The science fictions ones where the hero would go to sleep and then wake up in the future.

A small fleet of black…cars…surrounded him then, more men in suits pouring out of them to box him in. He eyed them warily, sizing up the chances of taking them and escaping if he needed to. He needed his shield, needed to find Peggy. She would be able to explain everything to him.

"At ease, soldier." He whipped around, a little over 180˚, to find a dark skinned man standing in front of one of the cars. He was dressed all in black, the hem of his long coat ending right at the start of his boots. They sized each other up, two blue eyes meeting one deep brown as the man stepped forward. He seemed relaxed, more than slightly exasperated, as though all of this was normal to him.

Well, that was fantastic for the man in the trench coat, but he was barely holding everything together at this point.

"Look, I'm sorry about that little show back there, but we thought it best to break it to you slowly." The one eyed man's voice was low, it was sincere, and he took that as a small comfort all things considered.

He tried hard to control his breathing, eyes darting around as fear started to worm into his heart. A tone of voice like that? There was something the man wasn't saying. Something big.

"Break what?" He demanded. A crowd was forming around them, the other people in suits doing what they could to hold it back. So they weren't just here to contain him, they were also here to control the crowd.

The man's face was impassive, coolly impassive, but he could have sworn he saw sympathy in that one blink. "You've been asleep Cap. For almost seventy years."

His first instinct was to call the man a liar, but he knew that it was true. He wasn't sure how, he wasn't sure why, but through some miraculous feat of science, Steven Rogers was just like the main character in one of those sci-fi novels. He had fallen asleep thinking he was dead, and woken up in the future. It was the only way to explain the cars, to explain how New York was so different and exactly the same. He didn't want to believe it, but… there was no way to deny it either.

And he was surprisingly handling it very well.

"Are you gonna be okay?" The man in black asked, genuine worry in his voice now.

Steve said the first thing that came to his mind. "Yeah… Yeah. I just… had a date is all."

"I told you it wouldn't work." The red headed nurse was calmly pushing her way through the barrier of men in suits, the slightest dotting of sweat on her brow as she padded up to them in completely bare feet. The bite of concrete into the unprotected soles of her feet were ignored, if she even felt them at all, and he felt the weight of her eyes on him.

"Captain Rogers." The man in the coat ignored her for a moment, though Steve noticed that his lips pinched slightly. "My name is Nicholas Fury, I'm the director of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division. We call ourselves SHIELD for short. The woman beside me is one of our better agents, Nicole Dugan."

Dugan. As soon as Fury—for some reason Steve could only associate the man with his last name—said her full name something clicked in the back of his mind. The woman was familiar to him because she was somehow related to Dum Dum.

"Captain." She inclined her head to him, reaching back to gather the long mess of tangled curls and pull it up into a messy bun.

Steve felt color rising to his face as he watched her, suddenly feeling ashamed for his earlier behavior. "Ma'am. I apologize for my earlier behavior. I didn't mean to scare you."

"Scare me?" One eyebrow arched in skepticism. "No, your reaction was quite expected actually. You'll have to try a lot harder than that to scare me."

Oddly enough, he didn't doubt her for one second. She had the sort of bearing of someone who wouldn't be afraid to lay a person out flat just for looking at her wrong.

"Agent Dugan is the granddaughter of one of your former teammates, Cap, Timothy Dugan. He was one of the co-founders of SHIELD, and Nicole has followed in his footsteps." Fury confirmed his suspicion, and as he said it Steve could see the resemblance even more. Her eyes were different, but way she sized him up with them weren't.

"Agent Dugan also feels like we should be having this conversation in private. Not, you know, in the middle of the street." And the smart mouth was classically Dum Dum.

Steve saw the first flicker of actual emotion go across Fury's face, and it was irritation at the woman beside him. For her part, Nicole didn't seem to mind in the slightest. In fact she appeared to be entirely absorbed in brushing out the wrinkles of her skirt.

"Look, I still don't know if I should trust you people." He growled, eyeballing the two of them warily. Fury met the distrustful glare easily, but the woman… she glowered right back at him. She was so like her grandfather it would almost be hilarious if the situation wasn't so surreal.

Was Dum Dum even alive? The rest of the Commandos? God knew Colonel Phillips had to have passed away by now, but what about… what about Peggy? Steve wasn't actually certain if he wanted to know the answer to that question.

"By all means, Captain." Nicole drawled, her words heavily flavored by a slow, southern accent. "Stay here and try to sort it out yourself. Honestly, I think it would be hilarious to watch."

Fury cut her a surprised look, but remained quiet as she stepped forward. Her advancement was met by him taking a half step back before he realized what he was doing and forced himself to remain still. She poked him once in the chest, an accusing jab of the finger as her other hand fisted on her hip in a movement that was characteristic of all women when they were angry.

"You're scared, you have no idea what's going on, I get that. But here's the thing, you need SHIELD right now. We're the only ones who can help you get a grip on this situation. Or not, but you won't last long here without valid paperwork, or any money." She shrugged, as though she genuinely didn't care what he did. Steve felt he was going to give himself whiplash trying to follow her back and forth moods, and his brow furrowed in sudden anger.

_She _was angry at _him_? Because he didn't trust some government agency that had lied to him right off the bat?

"Now listen here." Steve began, mouth opening as he prepared to give the woman a piece of his mind. She spun on her heel and walked away from him, the complete dismissal filling him with a sense of righteous indignation.

The blond followed her to the large SUV, glowering as she continued ignoring him.

"You can't just—" He began, only to have her open the door and slide to the far side.

"I'm sorry, the agent you're trying to reach is not listening to you right now. If you would like to finish this conversation, you can a) get in the car and come back to base or b) kiss my happy ass because I just chased after you down a filthy street barefoot and in a skirt."

He should have just walked away. It was the smart thing to do, it was obvious that she was doing this intentionally to rile him up, but if he walked away it would mean forfeiting the argument. Steve had done that before, he knew how to pick his battles contrary to popular belief, but there was something so utterly infuriating about the woman that he couldn't walk away.

Before he had time to think better he was sitting beside her.

Steve saw Fury's fleeting smirk as he positioned himself in the driver's seat, a nod causing the rest of the agents to spring into motion and return to their own vehicles. Whereas the one eyed man had managed to school his features back into an expressionless mask, sitting beside him Nicole was quite obviously pleased with herself. He didn't need to be a genius to know that he had been played by the woman, who was grinning like the Cheshire cat.

"Allow me to apologize for my words, Captain. I'm not actually that big of a jerk, honestly." She murmured, her words kind like they had been when he had first woken up. It was disarming, how easily she switched between emotions, and it made him nervous.

Was she being sincere? Could he trust her?

She was Dum Dum's granddaughter, sure, but that didn't necessarily mean much. If Fury was to be believed however, his friend had helped found the organization she worked for. Did that mean they could be trusted? A lot had changed over the years, and as he sat in the vehicle he let that information sink in.

He had been asleep for seventy years. Seventy years of his life gone, the world passing him by, in what had only felt like minutes. It was a terrifying thought to know that he had just been lying there, as peaceful as though he was taking a nap, and all that time had gone by.

It was enough to make his brain want to explode.

"Who else founded SHIELD?" He needed to distance himself from that line of thinking, there would be time to process that later.

"Howard Stark, Colonel Phillips, and Peggy Carter." Nicole answered beside him, her eyes turned outward to watch the scenery go by. He hadn't thought that he'd ran _this _far from the base, and was slightly impressed that it had only taken her a few minutes to catch up with him. "Grandpa didn't exactly help found the organization per se, but he was one of the earliest members."

The building that they pulled up to looked surprisingly like a bank—it was _The_ Bank, as Nicole explained as she climbed out of her seat—and this time they weren't going in through the front door. Instead the vehicles—all neatly in a line—pulled into the garage right below the building.

"Captain, if you would accompany me to the SHIELD medical facilities, we need to get our doctors to check you out. We can do a full debriefing there." Fury offered with a sweeping gesture to the elevator doors. Agent Dugan was already waiting inside, hands clasped behind her back in a full parade rest fashion.

A closed metal box? Perfect for an ambush, even if it was going to be only the three of them. He didn't know if he trusted it.

"I don't bite, Cap." Nicole smirked, a knowing expression on her face. "Much."

The almost predatory look in her eyes made his face flush with color, and he bowed his head as he ducked inside of the elevator. He missed the look that Fury gave the woman, missed the responding shrug of her shoulders as she suddenly became very interested in her nails. The button for the fourth floor was already lit up, causing Steve to arch a curious brow when Fury leaned forward to hit the button for the ninth.

"Agent Dugan will not be accompanying us, Captain. Your debriefing will be completely private." The man explained at that. Steve wasn't sure why he felt so relieved by that small tidbit of information but he was.

"Nope, I'm going to change out of these god awful clothes." The redhead agreed, arms splaying out wide behind her to grasp the elevator railing as the pulleys jerked into motion and they went flying upwards. The elevator ride lasted only a few seconds before a tinny voice announced the fourth floor. Nicole stepped through the entryway, pausing slightly when the Director reached out to stop the doors from shutting.

"Agent Dugan, I will be seeing you in my office. We need to have a discussion." The man informed her, his words incredibly stern. Her face lost a few shades of color at that before she nodded briskly.

"Understood, Sir." Seemingly satisfied Fury leaned back with a much more relaxed poise. The silence stretched between them, awkward and unsure on his behalf but comfortable for the other man. Steve was considering how best to break it when the voice came again, and they reached the ninth floor.

"This way, Captain." Fury took a left, a right, and then another left. This was a different floor than the one he had been on when he'd woken up; he hadn't needed to take the stairs to get out the main door. The fact that this was somewhere completely new was evidenced by the change in wardrobe. There were still agents in black from time to time, but they either wore armored uniforms, or black under suits. The majority of the individuals on this floor were wearing scrubs or white coats though.

"Dr. Maurer." A tall, lanky figure looked up from a battered brown clipboard and back down before doing an obvious double take. Mossy green eyes widened in astonishment as they took in Steve's figure, and he immediately felt uncomfortable.

"O—of course Director. Right this way."

IOI

If there was one thing that Steven Rogers could claim with utter surety in his life, it was that he absolutely hated hospitals. Whether it was an actual building, an army medical tent, or just a medical bay such as this one, he hated them all. They brought back uncomfortable memories of a scrawny kid who could barely manage to draw in a breath between body wracking coughs. Memories of his mother, looking almost as thin, and so much more tired as she would smile reassuringly at him and smooth down his hair.

And as he leaned down over the bed he'd been forced onto, deftly lacing up his boot strings, he couldn't help but lament upon the fact that he could never seem to get away from the places.

"We have living quarters set up for you Captain, an apartment in Brooklyn. Everything has already been furnished, clothes and everything. SHIELD is in the process of looking into your finances and getting your personal documents squared away. You've more than earned quite a bit of back pay while you were on the ice." Fury was listlessly flipping through his file, everything about his posture claiming disinterest, though Steve suspected that the man was picking up every single minute detail.

"That's… great." He shrugged, a frown on pinching at his lips as he jerked the other boot back on. "When can I get back into the field?"

He wanted to work, he wanted to do… something more than Fury's prescribed _rest and relaxation_. The doctor said that he would probably need time to adjust, both physically and mentally to everything that had changed, but he didn't think he would be able to stand going from an active warzone to having nothing to do. Not when everything had changed so much.

"Well, now that depends on a lot of things Captain. Right now we need you to focus on getting brought up to speed. On coming to terms with everything that has changed over your time spent under. You've also more than deserved a bit of vacation time, but if you really do want to jump right back into the midst of things… you'll have several sessions with a SHIELD therapist, as well as a certified historian. Both of these people are going to do their absolute best to get your head back into top shape." Fury answered, making him grimace.

"With all due respect, Sir, I don't need to see a therapist. My head is fine." Fury snapped the file closed, the sudden noise loud enough to startle his gaze upwards. The impartiallook was gone, wiped clean from features that were now watching him in a manner that was reminisce of Colonel Phillips. It was a look that was telling him to shut up and listen.

"Captain, you were frozen for seventy years. Now it might not feel like that to you right now, but at some point that knowledge is going to hit you. And when it does I don't want it to be while you're in the middle of a mission. So you will be required to visit a therapist, and until that therapist deems you fit for active duty, you will need to adjust to civilian life." Steve wanted to argue, god he wanted to argue, but he recognized when he was receiving a direct order.

Still, a small part of him wanted to tell Fury exactly where he could stick his therapist and just go off on his own. Steve Rogers wasn't a person who had ever particularly enjoyed asking for help, and chose to avoid it as often as he could. But… these were extraordinary circumstances.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to get a little bit of help adjusting to the 21st century.

"Understood, sir." There was nobody telling him that he had to like it though.

Fury studied his features for a second, his one eye sweeping over with such clarity that it felt as though he were being spread out on a dissection table. Did he have that effect on everybody?

"I'm glad you're willing to cooperate Captain. Now, you will be living with a SHIELD agent, until you get better adjusted at least. This agent will be your liaison to SHIELD; anything you need from us, you can go to them for. If you'd like, the relationship can remain purely professional but I hope you'll recognize the potential for friendship here." He took a step back when Steve dropped from the bed and onto his feet, straightening up to his full height of 6'2" with a scowl on his face.

"So I'm getting a babysitter." Fury inclined his head slightly at that, the barest of shrugs.

"If that's how you want to look at it, yeah." There was a slight rustle of the curtains behind him.

"And how else would you have me look at it?" He demanded, arms crossing obstinately.

Fury had the expression of a man who had seen that look before, many times before, and couldn't be bothered to give a single damn. "I would prefer you think of it as having a friend, Captain. Someone who is looking out for your best interests and doesn't want to see you getting hurt."

"A babysitter." Aware of the fact that he was actually beginning to sound like a petulant child, Steve pushed back the stubborn part of him that was demanding he continue to argue. "Who is this agent?"

When the curtains shifted to reveal the agent he assumed would be his new housemate, his jaw dropped, as did his stomach.

"Try not to look so scandalized, Captain." Nicole Dugan smirked, coming to stand beside Director Fury. Had it not been for the features of her face, he probably would never have recognized her. She was dressed almost entirely in black from her long-sleeved shirt to the dark calf high boots and everything in between, looking much more comfortable than she had in the skirt and heels. The clothing changed her entire posture as well; Nicole stood with a professionally deadly air; the hand on her hip said that she was unconcerned with her surroundings but the wide stance and tension told a different story. The woman was ready to strike at a moment's notice.

But what he was really confused by was her hair. She had gotten it all hacked off from a length that had gone down her back, to where the longest strand barely grazed past her cheek. Half of it was shaved, and the rest was swept to the left, where the strands were perfectly straight and… purple. A bright shade of royal purple.

"Sir?" He turned to Fury for confirmation, the man looked as though he had seen this all before, and Steve wondered if anything ever phased him.

"We figured that with her history with you, Agent Dugan would be the most opportune choice." She flashed him her most winning smile then, but Steve was not moved by it. This wasn't right; he couldn't just move in with a woman…

Nicole followed the expression on her face, the smile dropping and her features turning very serious. "Captain Rogers, eh, Steve, I need you to level with me here."

It was an odd turn of phrase, but something about her expression had him inclining his head ever so slightly towards her. "It ain't right."

"Sir, I am aware of the… social norms of your time but I assure you that it is quite common for a man and a woman to live together when they don't have any relations. And while that may seem very odd to you, there are practical reasons as to why this arrangement has been decided upon." She paused, sharing a look with her boss and only continuing after his slight nod. "The truth of the matter is Captain, you're a strong guy. One who's been through a hell of a lot these past few… years? And while you may not intentionally mean to harm anyone, should that occur I have the best chance of stopping you."

He gave her a skeptical look; she may have been an agent of this SHIELD organization, she may have been Dum Dum's granddaughter, but Nicole Dugan didn't look particularly threatening. She was also very human, and Steve could splinter a tree just by punching it, let alone a human. So the thought that this girl could handle him in a fight, especially if it was one he was really trying in…

"You'll have to pardon my skepticism." He snorted, causing her to narrow her eyes.

"Fine," Nicole shrugged, "So long as you'll pardon me for kicking your blonde ass if it comes to it."

Fury had a look on his face, one that said he was wondering what exactly he had gotten himself into with this.


	3. Chapter 3

**And right (ish) on schedule, a new chapter! Happy solstice and merry Christmas, and happy Hanukkah, season's greetings and any other holiday I've forgotten or don't know. As always you guys are wonderful for reading this.**

**And because I forgot, I own nothing of the Marvel universe… though rumor is that Marvel is getting screen rights to Spiderman.**

**Adara.**

**(Also holy crap almost 150 views in two weeks to this is amazing you people are amazing!)**

Chapter Three:

_July 16, 2002, Location: Outer Courtyard, Royal Palace, Asgard_

"_How much do you think about it? The future I mean; I think about it all the time." They were back at the fountain again, but then her favorite place to sit with him was the fountain. Her hair was down this time, the intricate braid now gone and the shoulder length strands lifting in the slight breeze and her shoes were off again. _

"_The future? Every now and again I suppose, but I try to avoid dwelling on the unknown." Loki replied serenely, watching the fish casually drift closer to her feet. They were much bigger than they had been last summer when she'd visited, fed incredibly well over the months. Granted, in comparison to the size they had been a few years ago when she first sat at this fountain—barely more than a few inches—the fish were absolutely huge._

_Loki tilted his head to the side, lips twisting into a sly grin. "What brought on this existential contemplation?_

_Nicole shrugged at that, head dropping back against her shoulders as she enjoyed the sunlight on her face. "I dunno, I guess it's just getting to be that point in my life. At school everyone's talking about how we're going to be graduating in a few years and we need to start thinking about what we want to do with the rest of our lives."_

"_They expect you to make that sort of decision at such a young age?" She heard the condescension in his voice, the disbelief, and her brow furrowed in a frown. _

"_It's not like that." She defended, bumping her shoulder into him. "We don't have forever to pick up a new skill if we get bored with the old one. And we don't just decide that we want to be a doctor and then bam we're doctors. While we're in college we can explore our interests in the hopes of finding that thing that we love and getting really good at it."_

_Her words were reproachful, and she hoped that he at least felt a little contrite—but she doubted it. Loki had never understood Earth, hadn't been able to see the things about it that made her love it so, and it had been a point of contention among them. They generally tried to avoid talking about it so that they didn't fight, but sometimes that was easier said than done. And he had never apologized for the times when they would get into big arguments, arguments to the point where she couldn't stand to be in the same room as him without throwing something._

"_Still seems foolish to me. But," He pressed before she could fit in a rebuttal. "Have you come to any startling realizations about your future?"_

_He didn't want to fight with her today, it seemed. Nicole pursed her lips into a soft scowl at that, thoughts turning inwards as she traced circles along the water. "I think I want to become a biochemist. I want to figure out what exactly is going on inside my body. What makes me able to do the things I can do." _

_As though to prove her point, she lifted the palm of her hand and stared intently at the empty space above her palm. Her eyes flashed orange for a split second as a flare exploded between her fingers, flames licking over the skin without doing even the slightest bit of damage. She allowed the fire to die before her eyes returned to their dark brown color. Loki smiled slightly at the small display of power, fingers drumming along the edge of the stone basin._

"_Well then," He drawled with a smirk, "It certainly seems like you have everything all planned out then." _

_Nicole made a very unladylike noise at that, caught between a snort of laughter and an indignant growl that made it come out in a strangled squeak. She swung her head around to face him, a disbelieving look on her face as she reached down to flick some water at him. "That's fine, laugh it up. The truth is I have no idea what I want to do with my life. It terrifies me, and everyone else is acting like they already know what they want out of their lives and I'm just floundering."_

_Loki paused at the sincerity in those words, the small, lost voice that they were spoken in and against all logic he felt empathy swelling in his chest for the girl. In an uncharacteristic display of comfort, he reached out and squeezed her hand gently. "You are young still, Nicole. Give yourself time to grow as a person, and you'll figure out your passions. Sometimes you just have to be patient."_

_The reassured smile she gave him filled the Asgardian prince with a strange bloom of warmth, and he found a genuine smile reflecting back at her._

_Sometimes, all one needed was a little patience. _

IOI

_July 01, 2011, Location: 19__th__ Street, Brooklyn NY_

She was going to lose her effing mind. Insanity was the only obvious destination to this cluster fuck of a journey she'd set herself on. Insanity and possibly—probably—murder.

She was going to lose her mind, and kill Steve Rogers. The little shit head.

"One rule. I give him one god damned rule. Pick up your dirty laundry, Steve. Anything else I can handle so long as you pick up your dirty laundry." She grumbled, shifting the basket to her other hip. Of course he couldn't defend himself; Steve wasn't in the apartment at all right now. Every Friday morning he went down to the Bank to talk to Dr. Cross about his _feelings. _At least, that was the intent anyway; Nicole was certain that Julia was having the time of her life trying to get Steve to open up. He didn't like to talk about… well much of anything really. Or maybe that was just with her?

God knew that she had tried to have a grown-up, mature conversation with the stubborn meathead plenty of times. And while sometimes it worked, more often than not he avoided the questions and locked himself in his room. Or he would storm out of the apartment and not be heard from for a few hours. The first time he'd done that Nicole had—naturally—followed him to make sure he didn't hurt himself. Suffice it to say that Steve hadn't been pleased, and their shouting match had startled several flocks of starlings from their trees.

They argued about a lot of things actually; what to watch on TV, what kind of pizza to order, what was and was not appropriate to wear around the house… and of course, the laundry.

Fucking dirty laundry everywhere. _Everywhere._ Not in the laundry basket like hers—because Nicole was a well-adjusted human being who knew how to put her clothes away—but everywhere that wasn't the basket.

"I'm going to kill him Chauncey. I am going to straight up, stone cold, murder him." She warned, looking down at the corgi who was following behind her.

Granted, it had only been one week, but that one week of doing laundry and having to go on a merry hunt through their apartment looking for it was enough to drive her insane. Every shirt, every pair of pants, every damn sock... it threatened to implode even her sense of patience and Nicole thought that she was going to rip her head off. Or his, whenever he got back from the Bank.

It was honestly enough to test the restraint of Gandhi.

"How is this even possible? How does an army man possibly get into this sort of habit? I don't even know how to comprehend my life right now!" She exclaimed, reaching for the doorknob to his room. A small tremor of hesitation had her freezing with her fingers curled around the metal ball. She hadn't actually been in his room before; the last time she'd done laundry had been the day after he'd first moved in and there wasn't a lot of his clothes in need of washing. What he did need cleaned had been handed to her as she'd been heading over to the laundry room.

It felt… incredibly personal to go into his room. He most certainly hadn't been in her own before, but that was more his sense of modesty than her need for privacy. Nicole had spent most of her time in Operations sleeping in barracks; privacy was an ill afforded luxury to her. Steve on the other hand… his door was always closed whether he was in his room or not.

He would probably get angry at her for going into his room but… Nicole was a creature of habit and liked doing her laundry on Fridays. Not to mention she was running out of clothes to wear. And honestly it wasn't like he wouldn't get pissed off at her for something else anyway. Steve was almost always pissed at her.

"Now or never." She shrugged, pushing open the door. As soon as she hit the light switch, it took every ounce of self-control to avoid screaming in frustration. The room was obscenely clean; the bed was made with crisp, sharp corners, the books were stacked on their shelves in perfect ninety degree angles, there wasn't a single hair out of place… except for the clothes strewn haphazardly all over the damn place.

It had been one week—technically nine days—since Captain Steven Rogers had woken up from his stay on the ice. Nine days since Nicole had been assigned to help him adjust to life in the twenty first century. In those nine days any residual awe she'd felt towards the man she would beg her Papou to tell her stories about had rapidly evaporated. She was trying very hard to be understanding; it wasn't his fault, he hadn't asked for his world to be turned upside down—hadn't asked for any of this really—but he wasn't making it easy. Steve was stubborn in every sense of the word and Nicole was almost positive that he was allergic to help of any kind. Since their first meeting they had fallen into a very fragile sense of cordial politeness to one another. He didn't trust her, and she couldn't seem to prevent herself from getting into petty, bitter arguments with him.

The blame could mostly be placed on her however; she hadn't exactly been the most understanding roommate either. In truth, Steve had thought he was going to die—end of the line, light at the end of the tunnel, no coming back dead—and then he had just… woken up. And he might as well have died because it was about seventy years in the future and everything had changed. His old life was gone, his friend and family leaving him to try and stay afloat in a world where people kept throwing new information at him. People like her who had expected him to just open up and share his feelings, when he came from a time where such emotional behavior was generally not the societal norm.

That realization stopped her cold, remorse ripping through her. Nicole was the one person who was supposed to be his friend, and _help_, but she had been doing a shit job of it. She had been so worried about getting him up to speed, trying to read the modern times into his life, that she hadn't realized she was a part of the problem and not the solution. She should have realized it too, should have seen the signs that he was becoming overwhelmed because how often had she needed her own time to decompress when her entire universe was going every which way?

She was an insensitive bitch.

"Chauncey, I'm a jerk." Nicole announced with a frown, quickly snatching up the rest of the clothes. Her dog cocked his head in confusion at that, not understanding the words but sensing the tone of them well enough.

As shitty as she felt at the moment, if Steve didn't learn how to use a basket she was going to kill him.

They had a very simple way of divvying up chores in the apartment; they both had certain rooms that they were supposed to clean—Steve took the kitchen and bathroom, she had the living room and foyer as well as the laundry—and they alternated the dishes. It was a good system, one she was quite content with because it kept things simple and painless. Plus, Nicole had always hated cleaning the bathroom, ever since her mom had stuck her with it as a kid.

Tossing in the whites, Nicole reached for the bottle of bleach only to find it empty. Well, a little liquid sloshed around inside but not nearly enough to be of any use. With a frown on her face the woman unscrewed the cap anyway, peering inside and ignoring the slight bite of the harsh chemicals on her nose. In the back of her mind she could hear the nasally screech of her high school chemistry teacher nattering on about how you were supposed to waft things to you, not just shove them in your face.

As suspected earlier however, there was not enough bleach left in the bottle to wash a load. Which meant that she would need more before she could finish the wash.

"Son of a bitch." She growled in annoyance, sealing the bottle and setting it back in place before she began the arduous task of unloading the washing machine once more, thanking anyone who would listen for the foresight to wait before adding the soap. Exchanging the white clothes for their colors Nicole pursed her lips at the stain on her favorite pair of shorts. That would require the stain stick.

She was in her way to add bleach to the shopping list when her eyes happened across the stove clock. It was almost three, Steve should be done with his session with Dr. Cross and SHIELD's historian soon… She could just ask him to pick it up. Technically it could wait for later, but… she was a creature of habit. And Steve wasn't an idiot, he could pick up the bleach without a problem.

Grabbing her phone, Nicole brushed the hair from her face and quickly dialed Steve's number. He answered on the third ring. "I don't need you to keep checking up on me."

She bit her lip at that combative tone, one eyebrow arching in direct challenge as her nose wrinkled. It was the day of his appointment with Dr. Cross so she supposed that his annoyance made sense. And Nicole did have a bit of a habit of checking up on him… still, it took a bit of effort to refrain from snapping back. "I am gonna assume that someone isn't having a good day. I'd ask if you wanna talk about it, but I feel like you don't."

"What do you want, Nicole?" Steve sighed in annoyance, voice coming out slightly strained. At least he wasn't calling her Ms. Dugan anymore.

"I need a favor, if you're on your way back. I'm out of bleach to do laundry can you swing by the store and pick some up please?" She asked sweetly, coating her words with honey.

"I—" Steve paused, completely losing his response. "Bleach?"

"Yeah, its laundry day and I need some." She explained with a shrug, one that she realized there was no way he could possibly see. "Pretty please?"

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone and Nicole could almost hear the gears turning in his head. "I… can do that, yes."

"Thanks! I usually get the mountain fresh Clorox." She beamed, wandering over to the shelf of movies. Brown eyes lit up when they landed on two of her favorite trilogies; Indiana Jones and Jurassic Park. Both series that would be great to watch over a pizza or Chinese.

"Alright," She frowned at the weariness in his words. "Anything else you need?"

"Nope. Hurry back though, I have a surprise." She didn't have a surprise. Well, she had part of a surprise. She had the idea that Steve could use a surprise to cheer him up, even if she didn't quite know what that surprise was going to be. So it would be safe to assume she had roughly… twelve percent of a surprise. It was really more in the developmental stage than anything else.

"Great." Steve answered sarcastically. "I can hardly wait."

After a quick goodbye Nicole dropped down at the kitchen table and pulled her laptop out. It powered up quickly, revealing a desktop background of her uncle's ranch—that had once been her grandparents' home—out in Montana. She smiled at the sight of it; the wrap around porch with the wind chimes and swing, the dogs lying on the stoop right near the flowerbeds, and the horses just visible in the corner. The ranch was one of her favorite places to be, and she had loved flying out there for the long holidays. She could spend all day looking at that ranch, but if she did then she would never get the opportunity to surprise—and hopefully cheer up—Steve.

So instead she brought up her internet browser and began searching for local gyms. There was one, small and family owned that Sergeant James Barnes had taken a thin and somewhat sickly Steve Rogers to in order to teach him how to box. All in an attempt to earn him a spot in the US Army. It was a place with sentimental value, and early on she had noticed that he liked to vent through physical activity so Nicole was planning on taking him there to work off some steam.

And then veg out with some pizza and movies.

But first she owed him an apology. A sincere apology because she had been less than charitable towards his situation. Steve had been difficult to live with, more than a little hostile towards her, and rather than trying to level with him Nicole had gotten offended and challenged him right back. He didn't trust her, but then why should he? Nicole had started out lying to him, manipulated him, and she had given him no reason to trust her. The knowledge that someone she admired—looked up to—didn't trust her was actually a little painful.

"Oh balls." She dripped her head into her hand, the other reaching into her pocket to pull out a worn pack of cigarettes. Sliding over the glass ashtray she placed the end of one in her mouth and flicked her thumb against her middle finger. As soon as the gesture finished a small flame appeared over her thumb, bathing her hand and the surrounding area in a warm orange glow. The gesture itself was somewhat unnecessary; with a bit of concentration she could have conjured the fire without it, but the movements were repetitive and made it easier to direct the fire inside of her body.

Plus… if she were honest, Nicole felt a little awesome when she did it.

Nicole took a long pull from the cigarette, the smoke drifting up from her mouth in lazy spirals as the nicotine shot through her. She didn't smoke often… just when she was feeling particularly stressed about something. Such as the fact that she had pretty much made an ass of herself to one of her childhood idols. Chauncey seemed to sense her stress, pawing at her pants leg and whining softly.

"I'm okay buddy, just realizing how much of a jerk I've been lately." She assured the dog, patting him on the head before lifting him up into her arms. Nicole couldn't help but giggle at the tongue that swiped excitedly at her face. The unconditional love of her dog was an amazing thing, it never hesitated to bring a smile to her face. Especially when she was feeling particularly low.

"Such a fuzzy little cutie! My big baby!" She cooed, running her fingers through his reddish orange fur. She found the one spot on the back of his ear that made his leg kick happily and applied just the right pressure to it. "You're a silly boy!"

Snapping her laptop shut, Nicole set Chauncey down on the floor and went to go check on the laundry. She had to admit, SHIELD knew how to pick living space; they had two large, spacious bedrooms, a decent sized kitchen, separate living room, a small greeting area and personal laundry facilities. It was nice, and it saved her the trouble of going all the way downstairs. The bump of something against her ankle—something fibrous and slightly damp—made her look down, a lazy smirk painting her lips.

"You really wanna try this with me? I'm like five times bigger than you." She questioned disbelievingly. Chauncey adjusted the grip on his rope, chewing at one of the knots before dropping it on her foot once more. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

Their battle was intense, long and gritty. And by intense, long and gritty she meant that she spent about an hour dragging her dog across the apartment while he tried to fight her. But then, she was a fully grown adult and he was a small dog. She had long since finished her cigarette and was feeling much better, sprawled out on the floor and trying vainly to shield her face as Chauncey crawled all over her when Steve walked in.

"I got the…" He dwindled as soon as he saw her, the bottle of bleach held in one hand that dropped to his side. "Do I even want to know?"

"Help!" Nicole whined, rolling onto her stomach and covering her head. This wasn't nearly as bad as when she played with her uncle's shepherds—there were two of them—but she couldn't help the high pitched squeal at a cold nose against her neck.

She heard Steve place the bottle of bleach on the floor, footfalls landing on the hardwood. "Alright buddy, I think you've won this war."

Chauncey was lifted off of her and Nicole remained on the floor for a few heartbeats longer before lifting her head. "Thanks. Both for the bleach and the timely rescue."

Steve inclined his head, dropping down onto the couch without a word. His features looked haggard and raw, and there were dark circles under his eyes. He hadn't been sleeping much lately—not that she could particularly blame him—but it was still concerning. Getting her arms and legs under her, Nicole pushed up to her feet and grabbed the bottle of Clorox.

"So…" She left him on the couch, absently petting the now settled dog, as she went to replace the empty bottle with the now full one.

"No, I don't want to talk about it." He responded instinctively, tiredly. She frowned as she came back through the hall, reaching up to rub at her sore shoulder. He hadn't moved from his seat, still sunken in to the suede couch with his eyes shut. He looked like he had fallen asleep, and she really didn't want to disturb him. Nicole was considering putting this off until tomorrow when his eyes sprang open. They were an icy, piercing shade of blue, watching her and seeming to _know_ that she had something to say.

She took a steadying breath. "Not what I was gonna say."

Apologies had never exactly been her forte; she was proud, and hated to admit when she was wrong, but right now Nicole was willing to make an exception. "This is actually kind of important…and awkward. Okay, really awkward. But afterwards we can get to the fun, surprise part of the day."

Steve arched an eyebrow at her rambling, sitting up and crossing his arms. "Just tell me, Nicole."

"Okay, here it goes." She paused, looking down at her bright blue socks. "I'm sorry."

Those words were spoken with such profound weight, as though she had just revealed some divine truth. Steve's face went from polite expectation to confusion; this had obviously not been what he was expecting. "You're… sorry?"

"It sounds so much more anti-climactic when you say it." Nicole moved so that she was sitting beside him. "But yes, I'm sorry. Very sorry even; I've lied to you, I've been rude as hell—my mama would have slapped me across the mouth by now—and I haven't actually given you much of a reason to like me, let alone trust me. Which really sucks for me, because I would like to be friends. Or at least acquaintances. And, like, okay so I know an apology doesn't just equal manicures and gossip but—look—can we just start over? Find common ground? I'm actually pretty great once you get to know me."

Steve watched her thoughtfully, chewing on his lower lip as his eyes searched her face for any hint of deception. There was none to find, as Nicole was completely heartfelt and sincere. "I… haven't made the best first impression either. So, yes, I'd like that."

"Okay," She thrust her open hand towards him. "Hello, my name is Nicole Dugan. My grandpa told stories about you during the war and I'm a huge fan. I'm really sarcastic—it doesn't shut off—and I try not to swear but sometimes I do anyway. Do you want to be my friend?"

He looked down at her hand with uncertainty for half of a second before reaching out to grasp it. "Hello Nicole, I'm Steve. I can't imagine Dum Dum getting married, let alone having kids but you look a lot like him so I guess I have to believe it. I'm very stubborn and like to figure things out on my own, and I don't really like talking about my feelings or when something is giving me trouble. I can't guarantee that I'll be easy to live with, or that you won't want to hit me, but I'd like to be friends."

The smile he gave her was shy, slightly hesitant, and Nicole found herself responding with one much warmer. "Okay, awkward moment gone and done with, I have a surprise!"

"I think you mentioned that over the phone." There was a quirk of amusement in his voice. It was nice, really, the way he smiled, and Nicole was grateful that the air seemed to clear a little between them.

She jumped to her feet, stretching out her arms and back. "So I've noticed that after you talk with Cross, you're usually very restless. I thought we might go work off some steam by punching things! There's a gym not too far from here that's a lot easier to get to than the ones at the Bank. Plus there we won't have to deal with the annoying recruits."

"I… ah, right. I haven't been to a gym since…" His eyes darkened at that, thoughts turning back over the years.

Nicole reached a hand for his arm, squeezing the corded muscle gently. "I know, it's hard Steve. But you'll get through it. It's going to be okay."

She hoped she wasn't lying.

The look he gave her said that he was pretty sure she was lying, but he quickly wrangled his emotions back into line. He went back to just looking tired, and she wanted to hug him. But then, she really was a soft, squishy heart that felt the world would be a little better if people hugged more.

She didn't, of course—hug him that was—because it would be weird for Steve, who probably wasn't used to random hugs. And Nicole had done enough weird things for the day, so she decided that instead it would be better if they just… went and punched things. Which had a tendency to cheer her up most days.

Other days she just needed to set something on fire.

Unfortunately for her, Nicole couldn't just go around incinerating objects willy-nilly; what _would _the neighbors think? Probably that she was some sort of demon-spawn and should be driven out of town… and her thoughts had taken a very real turn.

"Are you okay?" It was that question that made the woman realize she'd been scowling, and quickly wiping the expression from her face she offered her most reassuring smile. It felt fake, even to her, but at the moment Nicole wasn't quite able to muster any sort of genuine, positive, emotion.

"I'm fine." She lied, a partial lie, blowing a bubble with her gum. It popped with a soft crack, spurring her into motion as she climbed to her feet. "But come on Steve, let's hit the road so that we can hit… something."

"Something?" The blonde arched a skeptical brow, both at her response and the follow up statement, but he was climbing to his feet anyway.

"Something, some_one_, take your pick." The woman smirked, pushing her hair out of her face as she rolled on the balls of her feet. "Like I said when we first met, I'm pretty sure I can take you."

"With all due respect ma'am, those are some pretty bold words." Steve had a half-smile on his face, looking down almost bashfully. "But you'll forgive me if I don't try and put those words to the test."

Laughing harder she rubbed her nose, turning back to her room. "I'm going to get my bag together."

They parted ways at that, going to their adjacent rooms. Chauncey followed behind, his head swinging back and forth between them in confusion as though he wasn't certain who to chase after. Nicole looked up at the soft squeak of her bedsprings as her dog pounced upon it, straightening from her hunched position under the mattress. The red trimmed black duffle flopped down next to her dog, who was currently getting his head scratched right behind his ear. His warm tongue swiped along her wrist, causing the woman to laugh slightly and pull back.

"Eugh, stop that. You chubby fuzz ball." Her right knee creaked slightly as she straightened into a standing position. It wasn't exactly that she was old—twenty six _wasn't _old, okay—but her knees had seen a lot of use in her life. And it only took one injury to make the right one start to ache if she stayed in one position for too long. The soreness didn't happen often, and normally Nicole was able to just take a few Ibuprofen and move on with her life.

Being an agent of THE big intelligence agency didn't leave her time for small bumps and bruises.

That being said, the first thing she threw into her gym bag was a copper lined brace. Followed by a pair of workout pants and a ratty t-shirt from spring break at Myrtle Beach. It had been some time since Nicole had gone to an _actual_ gym. Honestly, the closest thing she could recall in her life was going to the rec center at her college. Other than that, it had been SHIELD facilities. Operations itself was essentially one huge training complex with classrooms tacked on.

Okay, that wasn't true. She had learned a lot more than just how to punch things while she was in Ops. Back to the original point however; Nicole hadn't been to a small, local gym in a very long time. She packed the things that she would normally use after working out; shampoo, shower shoes, and a bag to store her sweaty clothes and towel. Zipping the bag shut Nicole grabbed the two handles and lifted it off the bed. The contents of the bag—namely the shampoo and soap bottles—were too volatile for her to risk slinging it over her shoulder and sending them careening into one another. She had made that mistake once, and it only took one time of cleaning shampoo off of everything to learn not to do so again.

"Hey," She heard Steve call from just outside of her doorway, "Are you ready?"

She swung her head to face him, body following as it was known to do, with an almost puzzled look on her face. Deep in thought about the cataclysmic—or perhaps mildly inconvenient—time her shampoo had exploded all over her things, she hadn't even heard him approach.

It was unfair, a man that large should not be allowed to sneak around like that. She should get him a bell, she really should.

Because it was completely Steve's fault, and no short coming of her own training whatsoever…

"Mmm, yeah let's go. The gym is actually only a few blocks down from the apartment, so we might as well walk." She added, sliding out of her room and flipping the switch to turn off the light as she went. Chauncey followed her footsteps, as soon as he was clear allowing the woman to shut the door. "Everything is actually within walking distance in New York almost, so really there's not a whole lot of reason in having a car especially with this traffic. Unless you want to show off how rich you are because you can pay for parking in your building, on the street, as well as insurance for a vehicle that takes longer to get places than your feet do."

"But isn't your car parked downstairs in the garage?" Steve questioned lightly, holding open the front door for her.

Nicole shook one thoughtful finger in his general direction, frowning as she struggled with the key in her deadbolt. "You're missing one crucial detail here, buddy. This is a SHIELD building, meaning that I don't have to pay for parking. And I have been known to make several trips out of state at any given moment."

Steve didn't answer, deciding instead to purse his lips and adjust the weight of his bag across his shoulders. Fury had told him outright that the building he would be living in would be shared by other SHIELD agents, however he hadn't realized that all of the tenants were associated with the organization. It made sense though, he supposed; it would be easier to keep their agents all together in case of mobilization. And there would be plenty of people to keep an eye on him.

"What do you actually _do_ while I'm not here?" The blonde asked suddenly, lifting his gaze so that the weight of his blue eyes landed almost heavily on her. Nicole rolled her shoulders, switching the bag to the other hand and jumping the last few steps down to the main floor.

"Other than watching Days of Our Lives?" She received a blank look at that response, Steve's brows furrowing ever so slightly in that way they did when he didn't understand one of her references. "It's a TV show, a soap opera…"

His confusion only mounted, bordering on the faintest edges of frustration. "Okay, starting with soap operas; they're television programs that focus on the entwined lives of multiple characters, especially their emotional relationships. The acting and storyline can get so involved to the point of being ridiculously melodramatic. Days of Our Lives is one of the longest running soap operas, and most of the time the only people who watch those kind of shows are housewives with nothing better to do. Stereotypically anyway, I'm sure that anyone can watch. I myself have never seen that particular allure, but hey, it's whatever."

"I wasn't trying to imply you were like that, or anything." The blonde quickly responded, stammering over his words in a somewhat rushed apology. Before she could get a word in edge wise, he continued. "Unless that _is _what you do all day, which is fine too."

She suspected that it had more to do with him not wanting to shatter the fragile truce they had just formed than anything else, and Nicole silenced him with a warm smile. "It's fine, I was making a joke. As for your original question though, what I do all day? A lot of different things. Any cleaning, taking Chauncey out, laundry… Once the technical aspects are done, if you're still not back—which you typically aren't—I'll make lunch, browse the internet, and do paperwork. There's a surprising amount of it, progress reports and the like. I also have regular check-ins at the Bank as well, dealing with my boss."

"Fury?" They rounded a corner, passing a middle aged woman wearing a tracksuit and powerwalking with a retriever on a leash. The dog paused long enough to earn a short pat on the side from Nicole, who threw a disarming grin at his owner before commenting on the weather and bidding her a good day. Steve watched in interest, the openness and friendliness of Nicole quite at odds from the woman he had first met.

"Phil." She answered as she straightened, shoving her spare hand into her pocket. "Agent Phil Coulson. Fury's like the top boss, and then Coulson is my direct supervisor."

The look on his face made her laugh, and she tucked a chunk of hair behind her ear as she adjusted her hold on her bag. "You haven't met him yet, though you might have seen him around from time to time. But I have to do daily reports of the stuff we do, the things we talk about."

Steve opened his mouth angrily at that, brows furrowing as his blue eyes blazed in indignation. "So you are my baby sitter?"

"Look," Nicole grimaced, "Steve—"

"I knew it! Fury can't even trust me to stay out of trouble at home, he has to send someone to hold my hand all the time?" The blonde growled, turning and rounding on the woman. She didn't back down, spearing one hand through her hair and combing it roughly out of her face.

"Fucking stop!" Her voice was loud and sharp as she squeezed her eyes shut, pinching the bridge of her nose between her forefingers. "Jesus fucking Christ, one day Steve; I'd like to go one day without fighting. Can you at least let me explain?"

"Explain what? That anything I say will be common knowledge by the next day?" Nicole had stopped a few steps behind him, and now there was a gap of about five feet between the two. It might as well have been the Grand Canyon for all of the space that separated them.

"It's not like that okay? I don't just record all of your dirty secrets, or write whole novels about what color underwear you chose to put on today. Is it red though? I bet it's red. Anyway, Steve, look. When you woke up you were told that an agent—moi—was going to be assigned to keep an eye on you. I know what to look for, Steve, what needs to be reported." She said, trying hard to keep the annoyance from filling her words. Her first instinct was to go right back into the bickering that had defined her past week and a half but she managed to keep herself from snapping.

Nicole took a few visibly deep breaths, adjusting her bag once more—anything to keep her hands busy and not throttling the man in front of her—as she closed the distance between them. "Things that might not seem important to you, small things like you waking up a little later than usual, which could indicate a full night's sleep. Which would be good for you because sleep is important, okay."

He opened his mouth to argue, of course he would he liked to argue after all, but Nicole just kept talking. "I'm just doing _my _job, Steve. The thing they pay me to do and I'm not gonna stop."

"Damnit, I—" He let out a sharp exhale, dragging a hand down his face. "I'm not a child."

"We're not treating you one. At least, I'm trying not to Steve. But you have to understand that this isn't the forties, we don't deal with our emotional problems by ignoring them." She chewed her lip at that, thinking that it actually was how she dealt with a lot of her emotional problems. "Okay, we're not supposed to anyway. You've talked with Dr. Cross, I'm sure that at some point she might have mentioned that you could have something called Post Traumatic Stress Disorder? Shell shock? It's serious, and it doesn't just go away if you ignore it. So they have me keep an eye on you, not just to babysit you but to make sure that if something goes bad, if you get caught up in a night terror or bad memory, you don't hurt anyone."

"You're supposed to stop me?" Those words were spoken somewhat disbelievingly, and Nicole was going to assume that his skepticism was not related to her lack of a Y chromosome. It probably was—a small part at least—but then he was a super soldier and as far as he was aware she was just a human.

"I told you blondie, whenever you're feeling up to the challenge." She gestured to the building in front of them, the gym that they had been looking for. A smile threatened her features when Steve stopped again, familiarity painting an almost bittersweet expression of shock on his face. "Surprise."

"It looks almost exactly the same." He breathed in astonishment.

"On the outside anyway, you wanna go in?" Nicole offered gently, coming to stand beside him. She had to shift her shoulders slightly as someone wearing sweat stained clothes came brushing past them. "See what all of the fuss is about?"

Steve just stood there, blue eyes wide and drinking in the sight of the building. From what she'd seen of the pictures—some monochrome from age, others in color—it really hadn't changed. She just stood with him, giving him the time he needed to absorb this small piece of his history.

"I… let's go."


	4. Chapter 4

**Alright so I'm a week and a day late and I'm really sorry guys. I mean holidays and stuff, being social and doing family things is a big part of it but also… to be honest I've mainlined all seven seasons of Dr. Who within less than two weeks and now it's over and I don't actually know what to do with my life. **

**Actually, I'm just trash.**

**I'm not entirely thrilled with this chapter, and if it has any grammatical errors I sort of rushed the end so that it wasn't any later. **

**Anyway way guys, here's chapter four, I'm really sorry it's late, and you guys are fabulous. Let me know what you think, and I of course own nothing.**

**Adara.**

Chapter Four:

_November 20, 1940, Location: Goldie's Boxing Gym, 15__th__ Street, Brooklyn NY_

"_C'mon, it's like you're not even trying Stevie." Bucky smirked. At least, Steve assumed he was smirking; he couldn't really see much of anything other than his friend's bare feet from his position sprawled on the ground. It sounded like Bucky was smirking, and in all honesty he probably was; his friend never failed to find amusement in kicking the much smaller man around. _

"_I am trying." Steve groaned in response, struggling to get his arms under him and push up onto his feet. It was easier said than done though, every muscle hurt and his bones protested angrily to the motion. They—as well as his joints—had already absorbed enough shock. _

"_Yeah, well, you're going to keep trying until you learn how to block that move." Bucky pressed, swinging his arms back and forth. "Or you could just give up on this idea of—"_

"_Bucky, no." It was an old argument, an argument that had started as soon as they'd heard that things were heating up overseas. It was only a matter of time before a decision was made on whether or not the US joined in the war efforts against the Axis powers and as soon as they did Steve was going to be first in line at the recruiter's office. And so he had insisted—basically dragged his friend down to the only gym within walking distance—that Bucky teach him how to box._

_Steve knew how to box, he knew the mechanics of it, and yet he still ended up getting beat up more often than not. _

"_Why you have this idiot idea of getting yourself involved in the war, Steve—" Bucky tried again, the smirk falling from his face._

_Steve grit his teeth and squared his shoulders, lightly tapping his gloved hands against one another. "Someone has to go out there and stop this. Why not me?"_

_The brunette swung first, the strike slow and lacking force. "How about because people __die__ in war Steve. Just because you've got something to prove to your old man… can't you just let it go?"_

_He mirrored the form, blocking the blow like he had been taught. Like he said, he knew the mechanics but applying them was a different matter entirely. _

_Steve took a deep breath, blue eyes narrowing on his best friend. He understood why Bucky was so against him enlisting; the larger man had always felt the need to protect Steve. But he didn't need to be protected, especially when there were people who had it a lot worse than he did at the moment. Not when there were boys far from home willing to lay down their lives to stop Hitler. He couldn't expect that of them and then be willing to do anything less._

"_It's not that Buck." He sighed, breath rattling in his lungs. Bucky pinned him with a look, one that had always seen right through the bullshit. "Okay, it's not only that. There are people dying over there Bucky. Good people, people who don't deserve the kind of suffering that's being heaped on them. Someone needs to stand up for them, to push back and say 'this isn't okay.' I'm gonna do everything I can to be that kind of person."_

_Bucky cocked his head at those passionate words, grey eyes darkening a few shades. There was a war going on across his features, but there usually was when Steve was involved. It was a battle between wanting to keep him safe, and wanting to kill him. After a few moments though Bucky let out a low groan filled with years of suffering. Years of trying to fight against Steve's stubbornness. It was like trying to beat down a stone fortress with a small hammer. _

"_Alright, if you're so insistent y'little punk. Someone had better make sure you know enough to keep from dying on your first day. Lift your arms higher, and tuck in your elbows." _

_Steve was the one smirking now._

IOI

_July 01, 2011, Location: Goldie's Boxing Gym, 15__th__ Street, Brooklyn NY_

The exterior was almost exactly like he remembered, with a few alterations. The sign had been replaced, a new coat of paint, as well as slightly larger windows. The interior had made an attempt to cling to the past, but as with most things the passage of time could be seen. Mirrors on one wall, rows of machines and weights filling the main space in between.

Nicole, he noticed, had wandered up to the main desk and was chatting with a bubbly brunette wearing a grey top and tight pants that stopped just past her knees. The brunette was swinging around the counter, a stack of towels in her hands and smiling brightly at the woman who had drawn her attention. Steve wandered closer, his bag thumping against his back. He couldn't help the wandering of his eyes around the gym; it was almost exactly the same! The machines were new, the screens—modern televisions—and music as well, but the walls were the same beige color that he remembered. And…there were those old pictures of once famous boxers and athletes!

"This place is just like I remember. Well, almost. Do you still have the boxing ring?" He asked excitedly, stopping beside his housemate. Her head twitched to the side at his approach, fingers digging for her wallet and pulling out a three and a half inch plastic card. She had explained it to him once; cards that were linked to bank accounts so that someone could buy whatever they wanted. So long as they could afford it anyway.

Sometimes—and this Nicole mentioned in thin amusement—people liked to buy things that they couldn't afford. But that was nothing new; whenever there was a type of currency there were people who didn't know how to manage it.

"Uh…" The brunette stared up at him with huge hazel eyes. "Yeah! The boxing ring is through that door, to the left."

He nodded at that, murmuring his thanks. She was still watching him though; there was a smile on her face that stretched it quite prettily he supposed. In a way that reminded him of the blonde woman he'd met once in a little Podunk town a few miles north of Sacramento. It had been during his time selling bonds for Senator Brandt, and she had come for an autograph… at least he'd thought that was what the woman had wanted. One thing was for certain though, Steve definitely was _not_ going to let the brunette corner him.

"So," Nicole had a smug smirk on her face, the amusement casing away the annoyance from everywhere except for her eyes. "Locker rooms are through that door. Get changed and meet me in the ring."

She was definitely still steamed from their earlier argument. Granted, he was still pretty ticked himself; SHIELD was always watching him, they just couldn't seem to trust him without a damn babysitter. He'd shown up to their meetings, talked with their historians like he was still in school, let their doctors poke around in his head, and he still couldn't receive a damn moment of piece. No, instead they gave him someone to 'be his friend'. And by that of course Fury meant someone to report all of his dirty little secrets. And Nicole now wanted to meet him in the ring?! Did she mean to fight him?

"Nicole, wait!" Steve called, reaching for the royal haired woman to restrain her. His hand brushed against the material of her jacket, rough and worn, but ultimately grasped at air. She seemed to dance around him, light on her feet as she practically _floated_ towards the doors that had been indicated just moments ago.

"Meet me in the ring, blondie." Came the light response.

Oh yeah, she was definitely mad.

With nothing else to do except for running—and Steve Rogers didn't run—he squared his shoulders and made his way to the locker room. There was an ominous twist in the pit of his stomach, the one he got when he knew someone (his mom, or later Peggy) was mad at him. Along with that sensation that he was in the right to be angry. Bucky would call it that stubborn stupidity of his that had gotten him into all kinds of trouble with his ma and countless other blockheads in his days.

_Bucky_… It still hurt to think about his best friend. It might have been y—well, a lot of time might have passed chronologically but for him, to Steve, it had only been a handful of weeks. A handful of weeks that had been so filled with _everything_ that wouldn't give him a moment's peace. First it had been stopping Schmidt, then he'd been unfrozen and everything was different. Of course the nightmares didn't just up and stop simply because he had some new problems to deal with.

Not that it really mattered, did it? It definitely didn't stop Cross from trying to poke around in his brain. It didn't stop the graying doctor from trying to make him talk about how he felt. Dragging up his nightmares, everything that he didn't want to think about, so he had to stay on high alert near constantly. He had long since given up trying to sleep regularly ever since his first night off the ice.

But he kind of wondered what Bucky would have thought of the woman he now lived with. Steve had a feeling that Bucky would have liked her a lot; she had the fiery, sassy type of personality that his friend had always loved. Nicole was certainly the kind of woman that would have caught his friend's attention… and probably a lot more than that.

Steve found himself focusing intently on the slightly dented door of his chosen locker, the number 32 written in black paint on a small brass tag riveted at the top. He had been vaguely aware of entering the locker room, more or less, but his thoughts had become completely absorbed in the past. It wasn't the first time that he'd worked on autopilot, far from it in fact, but it had been some time since he'd quite zoned out this much. There was a lot going on in his mind these days, and Steve had been spending a lot of time trying to make sense of it all. Which meant that he would get so caught up with everything that the world would pass him by as he was puzzling over all of the buttons on the remote.

Rubbing a hand down his face Steve set his bag on the bench and began digging through it in search of a change of clothes from the jeans and shirt that he'd worn to the doctor's this morning. It had been the first order of business after Nicole had taken him to the apartment. Steve had been given a few sets of spare clothing from SHIELD; what he'd woken up in and another change of pants, track pants that had been too short for him.

He could practically hear the smart comment Bucky would have made while wearing his characteristic shit-eating grin.

A wry smile curved his lips at that thought and, hurriedly changing, he slung his bag into the locker and turned back to the door. Steve knew exactly how to find the boxing ring, he had spent almost every day for nearly two weeks straight in it and those memories hadn't faded. His mind had always been sharp, but after receiving Dr. Erskine's formula it had become a steel trap. He was certain that if a map had been placed before him, he could still pinpoint almost exactly where HYDRA's bases had been scattered across Europe.

"'M getting to old for this." His head swiveled in the direction of those words, muttered so low that the average person wouldn't be able to hear them unless they were right next to the woman who had spoken. But Steve wasn't an average person; his hearing was exceptional compared to what it had been. Granted, before the war he had been deaf in one ear so almost anything would be an improvement. But it was more than that, so much more. His hearing was sharp, way better than average.

Which meant that he could hear Nicole's very grumpy mumble, and it sent a tremor of apprehension through him. The thought of boxing with a dame didn't exactly sit well with him, especially one who seemed to have had previous injuries.

Steve had been surrounded by strong women for all of his life. His old man had died during the war, so he'd never actually gotten the chance to really meet him. He'd been raised alone by his ma, who had worked tirelessly to keep food on the table and make sure her sickly boy had all of the medical help he could ever need. She'd been the strongest woman he'd ever known, and she'd died from a case of TB that she just couldn't shake.

It was funny, really, of the two of them Steve had always figured he'd be the one done in by an illness.

Sarah Rogers had possessed a quiet, self-assured type of strength. The woman herself seemed small and almost frail at a glance, but her spine was stiff and stronger than steel and her words could crack sharper than a leather whip. Not to mention the fact that she had a grip like iron that was especially daunting if she got ahold of your ear which, in his and Buck's case, had been a lot.

And then Steve had met Peggy and the first time he'd seen the British agent she'd laid a soldier out flat for insulting her. Peggy had been regal, aloofly beautiful and haughty in a way that spoke of a fine upbringing. But she had been more than just a pretty face—though Peggy Carter was absolutely stunning—she was also smart as hell. Smart and fierce, Peggy had been unlike any dame he'd ever encountered before… they could have had one hell of a future together.

He wondered if she was still alive, if any of his Howling Commandoes were still alive. He knew that if he asked, Nicole could find out for him and she would most likely be happy to do so. Steve wasn't entirely certain that he wanted to know; right now in his ignorance he could pretend that they were all still alive, happy with families of their own. If he asked, all of that would change. He did know that Dum Dum was still alive, Nicole had confirmed it the first night he'd come to their apartment. But the others? She hadn't been certain and he didn't press any farther.

Steve looked nervously at the woman currently swinging her arms back and forth to stretch them out, facing away from him. She was… well, she was definitely related to Dum Dum. She had that brash, tough personality. The one that said she could take a punch and come back laughing and asking for more. He had no doubt that she could hold her own in a fight, but that didn't mean he liked the idea of boxing with her. Call him old fashioned if you would, but the truth was that Steve Rogers was stronger than the average man and he was fully aware of how much damage he could do to another human being.

"Are you just gonna stand there looking at my backside?" He had zoned out again he realized with a flush of embarrassment. Nicole had shifted so that she was facing him, arms lazily slung through the ropes as she leaned against them lightly. There was an amused smirk on her face, her hair slicked back out of it and pinned in place with a number of bobby pins.

The rest of her words sunk in, and he found himself turning redder. "I—uh—I wasn't looking! I mean, I was just thinking and—augh."

Nicole laughed, her words drawing a brief glance from a man pounding against a sand bag not too far from them. With the exception of that man, and a couple of girls in the far corner, the room was their own. "I know Steve, I'm just teasing. Let's face it, it's remarkably easy with you anyway. Now c'mon and get in here."

Her nose wrinkled as soon as the words were out of her mouth, lips twisting into a slight grimace. "That sounded better in my head. Just… come on."

"I really don't think that this is a good idea." He warned, pushing himself between the ropes. Nicole took a few steps back, tossing him a set of padded gloves as she reached for a set of her own, black and worn with use.

"I'm sure you don't. You might even be right, really, but let's be honest we're both more than a little miffed at one another. And what better way to deal with it than knocking the stuffing out of one another?" There was a crooked twist of her mouth at that, wry but serious at the same time.

Steve frowned at that, watching with narrowed eyes as she rotated towards her phone. It was plugged in to a small four inch square speaker. Loud music started playing, a mix of vibrating sounds that had seemingly no reason. It was music he had never heard before, but it sounded… weird, and somewhat like machinery. "What is that?"

"Dubstep." Nicole explained, straightening with her hands pressed into her knees for support. She scooped up the gloves and started fixing them onto her hands. "It's an electronic type of music that's made on a computer. It's really easy to dance to, has no lyrics, and sort of makes a 'wubwubwub' sound. It's a pretty new type of music, and part of my workout mix."

He had to admit, the music itself had very high energy. To Steve though, it sounded like a mess of noise clashing against one another. Still, the purple haired woman seemed to like it, so he might as well give it a try. "Have you ever actually boxed before?"

Brown eyes locked on him in disbelief as she used her teeth to tighten the strap of her second glove. "Uh, yeah. I'm a SHIELD field agent blondie, I know how to fight."

The words came out slightly muffled, distorted as she fastened the Velcro strap. Nicole dropped into a basic boxing stance, arms lifting as she danced from foot to foot. "Put up yer dukes."

A slight smile broke out across his features at that; now _there _was a saying he was familiar with. He'd heard it plenty of times, but more than that he'd said it so often in the past. "I think we should start out slowly, warm into—hey!"

Apparently Nicole didn't believe in starting out slowly, because she struck out with a jab that he'd barely been able to block in time. He quickly went into the defensive as she came at him, her moves quick, clean and surprisingly strong. She hadn't lied when she said that she knew how to box; Nicole was _good_. And her blows had enough force behind them to leave an uncomfortable ache whenever they landed.

"_Cessez d'être une chienne et me frapper_, Rogers." She swore, making him stumble. That mistake earned him a ringing in his ears as she whacked him upside the head.

"Excuse me?" He gaped, parrying and landing a light strike against her ribs. Nicole arched an eyebrow, sweat starting to dot her brow as she danced around him.

"You speak French, you know what I said." She smirked, "_Donc me frapper, petite fille_."

That trash talking was definitely from her grandfather.

There was a challenge in her eyes, a familiar challenge that he recognized from a different set of eyes but features that were close. Steve loosened his shoulders, shaking his head as a slight smirk curved his features. "_Ne dis pas que je ne vous ai pas avertis_."

He struck back at her, determination hardening his eyes. Nicole was a good opponent; she knew when to dodge and how to reciprocate and he had a feeling that once all of this was said and done he would have a few aches that weren't there before. Steve pulled his punches, but not a whole lot really. Nicole seemed to recognize when he was holding back and she'd taunt him in French until he started really trying. The upbeat music that she was playing was infectious almost, and before he really understood what was happening they were timing their attacks to the beat of the music. During somewhat slower songs their moves were a little more spaced out, before moving into a flurry as the music increased tempo.

"You're not bad." Steve grinned, ducking out of the way from her swing and placing a few firm hits into her ribs. Nicole bounced backwards, feinting to the left before dipping right. It was a familiar song and dance to Steve, he had done more than his fair share of boxing over the years. But Nicole… well, she was the type of opponent that he didn't see every day. Her movements reminded him of her grandfather, but they were a little more refined. Dum Dum had gotten his starts in back alley scraps, picking up a style that wasn't exactly well polished but brutally effective. Nicole had taken that and smoothed out the edges, her movements calculated but explosive at the same time. Full of force and vicious.

"Not bad?" The purple haired woman arched a single eyebrow. Steve struck out with his fist, fully expecting the woman to try and spin out of the blow. But she surprised him by grabbing his arm and tugging him off balance, leg swinging out to collide with the back of his knees, right in the weak spot. "Blondie I'm fantastic."

"Ouch, okay, I yield." He groaned, blinking up past the stars dotting his vision to focus on his purple haired house mate. She was breathing heavily, features flushed as she reached for a blue towel in her bag to wipe at her face.

"So then, I win?" She grinned, a bright expression that stretched across her whole face. It was nice, a natural looking smile that seemed to warm the woman from the inside out. It was a smile that chased away the annoyance in her features, leaving her completely at ease. Steve was a little stunned at that smile; it was the first time she looked well and truly happy since he'd known her.

Nicole extended a helping hand out to him, one that he easily accepted after peeling off his boxing gloves. "Yeah, you win. Though in my defense I am pretty rusty."

"Hmm…" Her nose wrinkled as she pulled with a strength that he hadn't expected but wasn't surprised by. Not after she'd completely knocked him on his ass. "Yeah, it _has_ been about seventy years now hasn't it?"

Her face crumpled into a grimace at that. "Oh, shit. Sorry Steve."

Those words floored him for a few seconds, his heart stammering in his chest in a manner reminisce of when he was a kid. Seventy years. Seven decades where the world had passed him by like he'd been nothing.

Just a nobody from Brooklyn.

Dr. Cross avoided mentioning it, she didn't want to overload his brain as she put it. If he brought it up, which he did every now and again, she wouldn't avoid the subject though. She would just work him through it in that methodical, patient way of hers.

It wasn't particularly hard to overload his brain these days though; there were a lot of new things for him to learn and only so much brain space to store that knowledge in. Things got a little complicated when he tried keeping every bit of information in the right place; which countries were allied with which, what buttons to press on his phone to turn it into a camera or play music…

Actually, those were relatively simple to understand and, contrary to growing popular belief, Steve did easily pick up on the use of newer technology. The problem with his so-called smart phone was that his thumbs were too big for the buttons. And Nicole herself was so insistent on sending him random messages throughout the course of the day, which meant he spent a lot of time hitting the backspace button during his replies.

"It's fine. I have to start getting used to it somehow. I mean, I'm ninety-two aren't I? I've gotta come to terms with that somehow." He groaned, hands digging into the sore muscles of his back. At the moment, it kind of felt like he was an old man.

"Yeah…" Nicole bit her lip, looking down bashfully. "So, speaking of your age… your birthday is in a couple of days."

His head dropped down into his hand, a low groan coming from his mouth. He hadn't even realized that his birthday was approaching in all of the hubbub of his life. Would he be celebrating his ninety-third, or his twenty seventh? A part of Steve just wanted to let the day pass by with no remark at all. Bucky and his ma wouldn't be there to surprise him with a handmade cake and those brightly painted newspaper hats as per tradition. He would wake up to see them hovering over his bed wearing those huge grins and throwing some of that handmade confetti on his head. After his ma had passed on, Bucky refused to let the tradition die. His friend had been pretty great in the kitchen, but he couldn't decorate a cake to save his life. Steve's birthday cakes had really been spongy yellow with splotches of chocolate frosting tossed in between. And he wouldn't dream of teasing Buck about it because to do so would invite the man to shove the cake into his face.

And then they would head down to the bay to go watch the fireworks over the water.

"I had almost completely forgotten." He admitted after a few seconds.

Nicole smiled sheepishly at him, collecting her phone and speaker and wrapping the cord up. She juggled her phone in one hand and her boxing gloves in the other, towel thrown over her shoulder. "Did you… want to do anything? I mean, we could go get drinks, or I could invite some people over for a small get together? Anything you want to do, it's your day."

The offer was somewhat shy, sweetly sincere as she looked away. A splash of pink had risen beneath her freckled cheeks, completely out of place on the confident woman that he knew. Steve found himself responding with a dry chuckle, embarrassedly reaching back to rub his neck. "No… I mean… I'd rather just spend the day in. Not really looking for a reminder of how old I'm getting, you know?"

He didn't want to think about it, actually.

"I got'cha. We'll treat it like any other Monday; with contempt and by pretending it's almost Friday." She offered, lip quirking into a half grin.

Yeah… just like any other Monday.

IOI

_July 04, 2011, Location: 19__th__ Street, Brooklyn NY_

Chalk it up to his late nights, or fatigue from going out to the gym for the past couple of days, but the night before his birthday Steve had slept like a rock. And for once—the first night in twelve days straight—it was a blank, empty sleep. Completely black, and deep enough that he didn't hear his alarm going off which, he would learn later, was more for the fact that Nicole had shut the alarm off.

But when he woke up it was to the sweet scent of confectionaries and the sultry notes of Ella Fitzgerald filling the space of the apartment. For a moment Steve lay in bed feeling completely disoriented without daring to open his eyes. Any moment now Buck would push open the door bitching about how he couldn't lie in bed all day, and how Mrs. Barnes was expecting them for the picnic and to watch the fireworks. Winnie baked the best pies this side of the Potomac and Steve wouldn't miss em for all the world. He tried to force his mind away from those thoughts, it would probably be for the best because thinking about them filled him with that bittersweet sort of misery that he couldn't seem to shake.

For a moment though, for just one brief moment, he could go back to before the war. Before he lost his ma, before the train and losing his best friend. Before he died.

Steve was shocked out of those thoughts, and the macabre turn they were taking, when the song ended. It was followed by a loud, cheerful advertisement near-shouted in Spanish that made him recall with sharp clarity that he wasn't back in that little brownstone in Brooklyn. It made him remember that he was currently in the year 2011, living with the granddaughter of one of his friends, and everything was different. Even worse; it was his birthday.

He rolled over in his bed, much larger and softer than any he was used to—it was actually pretty huge considering the thin cots he'd grown up on—and faced the clock. It was an older one, almost archaic in comparison to the rapidly improving technology of the 21st century, with an analogue clock face and a mallet that swung between two bells. He lay there staring at the face, the short hand brushing past ten as the longer ticked off the minutes in between. This had to be the first time in years that he'd actually slept in past dawn, which shouldn't have been possible because he'd set his alarm.

An alarm that had been shut off at some point.

"Okay…" He groaned, sitting up into a stretch that had the bones in his spine and neck popping like bubble wrap. "What's going on?"

The answer to that was less likely to be discovered hidden among the nooks and crannies of his room, and probably waited outside. Outside with the scent of baked goods and the sound of music that he actually _knew._

It didn't take long to smooth the rumpled blankets back into crisp corners and flat expanses, the mechanical movements clearing away the lethargy of sleep. And replacing it with a sense of alarm when he realized that if it was already going on half-passed ten then that meant he was missing his session at the Bank with the historians. He wasn't entirely sure _what _they would—or could—do about it, but his pride still rankled, and the punctual part of him felt an agitated twist in his gut.

An agitated twist that had him shoving open his bedroom door and glowering all the way into the kitchen. Nicole didn't notice his approach in the doorway, her back turned to him and facing the sink as the sound of running water was heard over her rinsing a large porcelain mixing bowl.

"Morning." She called without preamble, not looking up from the dishes. Steve opened his mouth to reply, eyes casually drifting to their table and the veritable bounty heaped upon it. There were waffles stacked neatly on a plate, as well as sausage links, hash browns, several bowls of fruit and to top it all off, on an elevated display plate, a round cake covered in chocolate icing.

"You—what is all of this?" There was a question somewhere in his mind about how he'd slept in so late, but it was completely washed away by confusion.

Nicole whirled around to face him then, drying her hands on her pants even though they, much like the rest of her, were covered in flour and frosting. She had pulled the corner of her lower lip between her teeth in an attempt to keep from smiling, ultimately failing as she gestured for him to sit. "Well, I know you said we'd treat today like any old Monday but… it _is _your birthday, Steve. So I figured I'd let you sleep in today, bake a cake, make breakfast."

He was blown away by that answer. Steve had expected that his birthday had something to do with it—the cake at the very least—but he hadn't even begun to suspect that she would go as far as to make him breakfast as well. "I—thank you, but you didn't have to. It looks great, but you must have woken up early to do it all."

Steve was almost positive that his face was starting to turn red again. People going out of their way to do things like this, people that he hadn't known his entire life that is, they weren't really a part of the norm of his life. But Nicole just shrugged it off, reaching down to grab a clear glass and set it on the table.

"Well blondie, today gets to be all about you. And the independence of our country of course, but it's your birthday. You deserve something nice for a change." She poured a glass of orange juice for him, watching as he began piling his plate. "And I didn't actually go to sleep last night, so I had plenty of spare time."

That caused him to look up sharply, blue eyes taking in the features of her face. There were dark circles under her eyes that had definitely not been there when he'd gone to sleep the night before. "You…?"

The question dwindled as the woman began making her own plate, covering the waffle in an almost obscene amount of syrup. "I'm a field agent, yeah? Done some things that sometimes keep me up at night. Sometimes keep me up all night. Every once in a while I pull some stupid crap because my brain can't shut off so I stay up for three nights straight in a Netflix driven delirium."

His brows furrowed at that; the first part made sense but that last bit… "Netflix?"

"It's like TV, only on the internet. So instead of waiting to watch a series or movie until a new episode premiers you can watch them all at once." She explained around a mouthful of food, chasing it down with a swig of coffee. "Want some?"

"Sure!" It was an oddly domestic scene as she swung around to pour another cup, stealing a strawberry as she did so. "I can't believe I slept in so late."

"Well, I figured it's your birthday and if you wanted to spend it in bed, meh." Her shoulders lifted in a shrug. "I mean that's essentially what I did for my twenty first. My friends were all like 'ey, yo you're legal let's go get druuuuunk' and I'm just lying in bed feeling lazy as hell like 'nah man, lemme just stay here and play this game non-stop until my eyes roll out of my head'. Which, honestly, story of my life."

She cleared her plate easily, eating quickly and ravenous as though it were the first meal she'd had in a long time. Of course, Steve ate with just as much enthusiasm; he was a super soldier after all, his metabolism ran high meaning that he was almost always hungry. "Anyway, we can do whatever you want. And there's cake for you."

She was very blasé about it, as though discussing something as inconsequential as the weather. The kindness of her actions and the humble way she played them off… Steve was starting to realize that he had been wrong about his first impression of the woman. He was beginning to see the part of Nicole that reminded him so much of her grandfather; not the brusque, tough exterior but the warm heart that was hidden underneath. And just like Dum Dum, she was doing a very thorough job of trying to hide it.

"I don't think I've had a day all to myself in… years, actually." He admitted after a few moments, picking at the remains of his breakfast.

"I'd say tell me about it, but SHIELD actually does give me time to myself every once and awhile." She paused then, lips quirking. "But I think that's because they _really_ don't want me to snap."

SHIELD, or the Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement and Logistics Division, a lengthy title made up by someone who had really wanted the initials to spell SHIELD. He supposed he should feel honored—considering the fact that Peggy was the one who had come up with the name—but really, the only emotion that he could summon for the organization was a bone deep wariness. They were an espionage and law enforcement agency, focusing on information… secrets.

"How long have you worked for SHIELD?" He asked, watching the woman hide her face behind her coffee mug.

"Officially?" Nicole pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I've worked there full time for two years, since I graduated college. I've been in Operations since I was sixteen though, balancing my education with my training. But to be honest, I've been involved with SHIELD for all of my life."

"Because of Dum Dum?" A flash of unease danced across her features for a brief moment, whisked away as though it had never been.

"Yeah, well, my grandpa was with them since the beginning. My mom didn't really get into it—she's a high school teacher in Georgia—but I followed in his footsteps." There was something that she wasn't telling him, but he didn't pry.

Steve stood to help put the dishes away, enjoying the sound of familiar music. "I bet he was thrilled with your decision."

She actually laughed aloud at that, tossing another strawberry in the air and catching it with her mouth. "Oh he was fit to be tied. I honestly thought his head was going to explode, both he and my mother turned a concerning shade of purple. Now, they probably would have been much happier if I'd gone Science and Technology or Communications but… you know, I wanted to be a field agent."

It was, perhaps, the most open that she had ever been with him. Granted this was probably the most he'd asked her about her life. If they were going to be living together for God knew how long, it would be better if they knew more about one another. And the more he learned the more Steve realized that Nicole was actually a rather decent, friendly person. One that he would actually enjoy calling his friend.

And that was perhaps one of the biggest surprises since he'd woken up.

"So anyway," Nicole's words drew him out of his startling revelation. "Happy birthday, Steve."

IOI

Translations:

_Cessez d'être une chienne et me frapper_, Rogers. Stop being a bitch and hit me, Rogers.

_Donc me frapper, petite fille. _So hit me, little girl.

_Ne dis pas que je ne vous ai pas avertis. _Don't day I didn't warn you.


	5. Chapter 5

**Okay, so look this chapter is actually on time! That being said, semester is about to start so I may miss next week's update. I'll try not to, but I make no promises. **

**Also, this story has already had almost 500 hits, and I can't actually believe that this is real life. Once again, I freaking love you people so much and I hope you're enjoying the bromance between Nicole and Steve. I might actually get into some genuine plot line and character development with the next couple of characters. Also, a little regards to the timeline. I'm not basing this off of the official Marvel timeline because, honestly, it seems a little rushed to me. Instead I'm trying to do things based more off of their release dates in the US. The exception to this is Nick Fury's Busy Week, which is elaborated more below. **

**Any questions, or if it's unclear let me know.**

**Also, if there's any aspects of the 21****st**** century that you want to have Steve having a little trouble with shoot me a line and let me know. Other than that, keep enjoying!**

**Adara.**

Chapter Five:

_June 01, 1995, Location: 1459 Cherry Avenue, Atlanta GA_

"_Is your bag all packed, little bean?" Summer was always her favorite season, for a multitude of reasons. Namely because it meant that she didn't have to wake up early and go to school anymore, but that wasn't the only reason. Usually as soon as school let out she would pack her bags and spend the first half of the summer with her aunt and uncle out in Montana at their ranch. The second half of the break had her back in DC, staying with her grandma and grandpa. She would go to church with her nana Meredith, or to the beach and play in the sand. Her favorite thing to do when she was in DC with her grandparents was when Papou would take her to the Smithsonian and show her the Captain America exhibit. They would spend the entire day looking at things and Papou would tell her everything that they got wrong._

_He had tried telling the people in charge of the exhibit, but apparently they didn't want to listen._

_Which, Nicole had always thought that they were being stupid because her Papou was the smartest person she knew, and __he__ had actually fought in the war with Captain America. But adults were actually pretty weird and far be it from her to point out that obvious fact to them. They had a tendency to get upset when a nine (and a half!) year old told them that they were being dumb._

_Nicole wouldn't be able to go to the museum with her grandpa anymore though, ever since they had moved down to Georgia everything had changed. Mama didn't want her to go back to DC, not after what had happened. A lot of people, parents and students alike, didn't like the fact that she hadn't been hurt during the fire like the others. Said it wasn't natural, said it was her fault._

_Mama told her they were just scared, and hurting, but Nicole knew better. Nicole knew that they were right. Because she remembered what had happened, she remembered the heat and burning and then there was fire and she was perfectly fine afterwards. Three boys had been sent to the hospital, __one had died__, and it had been her fault. Papou told her that she hadn't done anything wrong but… well, if that had been the case they wouldn't have had to move. Nicole wouldn't have to go to the Quarry—which was a scary name for a place that wasn't that scary—every day after school._

_She wouldn't be able to set things on fire without being burned. _

"_Nicky?" Mama was standing in the doorway, her pretty red hair tied up in a bun. She still wasn't used to the sticky heat of the state, and to be honest Nicole really missed the snow as well. _

_Mama was waiting for an answer, school had let out two days ago and it was time for her to leave now. "Yes ma'am."_

_Emily Dugan smiled gently at her daughter, taking in the nine year olds appearance. She was wearing a pair of bright blue shorts exposing permanently bruised and knobby knees, her beat up sneakers and—of course—her favorite shirt. It had been a gift from her grandfather, as bright a shade of her shorts but with a comic book cut out of her favorite super hero. Of course, as soon as he'd given Nicole the shirt, Emily's father had taken the nine year old onto his lap and explained how much the real Steve Rogers had hated those comics. _

"_Good girl." A slight shift of apprehension went through the older woman as she grabbed her daughter's heavy bags. "Your ride is almost here."_

_This was the third summer that they had come, the nice blonde woman who took her away every summer since they'd moved down to their house. Mama had been uneasy the first time the nice woman had come, they'd gone and talked privately. At least, it was supposed to be private, but Nicole could be very sneaky when she needed to be. _

_I can help your daughter, mistress. I can show her how to control her abilities better than these mortals._

_And then she had heard something… weird. It sounded like a strong wind blowing through the kitchen without rattling any of the pots or pans that hung from the ceiling. That had been the first summer that Nicole had been taken to the faraway place with the shiny gold buildings and the man with one eye._

_This was the third._

_The knock came on the front door. It wasn't soft and questing like it usually was when the nice woman came, it was loud and boisterous. Through the door they could hear someone hissing. "Easy brother, you don't want to shatter the poor woman's front door!"_

"_I didn't knock too hard. It isn't my fault that Midgardian architecture is so frail." There was a pause. "Do you think they heard?"_

"_I think that everyone on the block heard." Came the sarcastic reply. _

_Mama had evidently had enough and, sharing an arch look with Nicole the woman went to answer the door. Crowded outside on the porch standing shoulder to shoulder were two very large men. Nicole caught a glimpse of red cloth and green leather before mama stepped inside and let them in._

_Holy crap!__ Those were the largest men that she had ever seen! They were easily taller than Papou, and the blonde was very muscular. He had shoulder length, wavy hair and a long, scruffy beard. His face had a smile on it, a large, rosy cheeked smile and twinkling eyes. _

_Nicole instantly liked him and he looked familiar. She thought that she had seen him before, with that long red cape and hammer. _

_His brother was even taller, with slicked back dark hair and more angular features. His face was somber, twisted in a slight mask of annoyance, and he didn't actually look nearly as happy. She wasn't quite as sure how she felt about him either._

"_Hello ma'am!" The blonde one boomed, his voice so loud that it made Nicole flinch. And she was used to loud people; Papou had a laugh that could be heard by the neighbors if you got him going well enough. "You have a lovely home. I am Thor Odinson and this is my brother Loki. We come on behalf of our mother Frigga, who regrets that she couldn't make it. She has taken ill."_

_Mama was not impressed, and her arms crossed under her chest in the stance that Nicole recognized. She was actually becoming very cross. "First of all, use your inside voice. Second of all, explain to me why I should believe you."_

_It was the tone of voice that she used when she expected no nonsense from anyone, no matter who—or how tall—they were. The dark haired one, Loki, smiled slightly. He gave mama a slight bow, gesturing towards the kitchen. That was where grownups went whenever they wanted to talk privately. "I understand your concern. If I may speak to you alone?"_

_Brown eyes scanned both men critically, the type of look that made the 5'2" woman seem much more imposing than she was. It seemed like she glared at them for forever, and Nicole made herself busy by fiddling with the strap of her book bag. She had been on the receiving end of that look before, whenever she was acting out, and knew that it could be a very powerful expression. _

"_Behave." That word was directed at her, before mama turned towards the doorway. Loki followed, leaving her alone with his brother. _

_Of course, Nicole always behaved… well mostly._

_She sized up the blonde man out of the corner of her eye with a guarded expression, watching as he hung his hammer on the hook for the coats. He noticed her attention and smiled warmly at her, taking a few steps forward and kneeling down. "Hello little lady. You must be Nicole."_

_Her first instinct was to shy away from the attention, but that would be rude. And superheroes didn't just hide when they were uncomfortable. "I am. And you're Thor."_

_His smile widened at that acknowledgement, and he reminded her of a golden retriever that she'd seen at the park once. "You are one of my mother's best students you know, she looks forward to these summers."_

"_I… have fun when I'm there." The praise warmed her slightly, and Nicole found herself becoming more relaxed around the friendly man. "It's very interesting." _

_They sat in silence for a few moments, before he pointed slightly to her shirt. "That is an interesting shirt. Is he some sort of Midgardian hero?"_

_Nicole looked down at her shirt for a moment, lips pulling back into a smile. "Oh yes! He's Captain America and he's the best hero! He fought with my Papou—grandpa—during the war and fought a lot of bad people to save the world!"_

"_He sounds like a very brave and strong warrior." They had found common ground, and Nicole bounced on her heels._

"_I want to be just like him!"_

IOI

_August 24, 2011, Location: 19__th__ Street, Brooklyn NY_

"Son of a bitch! How is this even possible? God mother—!" It was impossible. It was downright impossible. It had to be.

"What's the problem, Dugan?" She was also going to kill him.

Nicole glared at Steve out of the corner of her eye, a low growl rumbling from the back of her throat. He was leaning back against the couch, feet propped up on the coffee table and one arm slung over the back as he watched her smugly. The Wii remote was in his other hand, and on the television screen Mario was doing a victory lap around the Rainbow Bridge.

Nicole sputtered, flinging her hands up disbelief as he just _sat there._ "This isn't possible. It was the first time you've ever played the damn game, and on the hardest friggin level and… you aren't human!"

"Jealous?" He laughed, watching as she jumped to her feet. The controller dangled from her wrist, the strap on it the only reason why it hadn't gone flying across the room by now.

"It's the only explanation. It is the only possible explanation. That or… okay, beginner's luck. I call a rematch." Nicole practically vaulted over the back of the couch, weight dropping down as the woman sat with her legs crossed.

"You can have as many as you'd like." Steve adopted a familiar shit eating grin. "I'm still going to win."

"Keep up that attitude blondie, I'll get you a fork for when you need to eat your words!" This time she would win; Bowser's Castle was her track.

This week was spent teaching Steve all about video games and their corresponding game systems. Yesterday they had spent the day playing Halo and, once he had gotten used to the controls he was unsurprisingly good at it. It was a war game after all, and Steve did have one hell of an eye for tactics and strategy. Which was much better than Nicole's on method of shoot people and hope you're going in the right direction. But Mario Kart… son of a bitch, how could he win on the _Rainbow Bridge_? On his first try!

"You nervous yet?" She taunted, fingers resting lightly on the buttons.

The light went from red.

"Not even a little bit." Steve smirked, sitting forward.

To yellow.

She narrowed her eyes, pupils shrinking into pinpricks. "You should be, cuz I'm gonna wipe the floor with you."

To green.

Nicole slammed her shoulder into the man next to her, fingers pressing into the button with a victorious cry as her avatar took off.

"Hey!" Steve yelped, arms flying akimbo at the sudden displacement of his balance. It was strong enough to knock him off balance without doing any serious damage. She suspected that he still wasn't used to her strength in spite of the fact that he had become her new sparring partner.

"All's fair in love and war." She shouted by way of response as he struggled to take off and regain lost ground.

Nicole took an easy lead, passing by the other players with the use of a few power ups and simple, skillful maneuvering. They rounded the first lap with her in first place, and Steve in fifth. He had an intense expression of concentration on his face, and Nicole felt her brows furrowing when he came up past Peach into third place.

"You're not gonna win pretty boy." She growled, though at this point she wasn't sure who she was trying to convince more; him or herself.

"You keep saying that, it ain't over yet." They reached the third lap with only Bowser between her lead and Steve closing in.

"We're in the third lap. Practically the home stretch." She hit the turbo strip, flipping through the air and thinking that she definitely needed some bonus points for style. "I told you, beginner's l—wait. No. Don't you dare Steve don't you—mother fuck!"

Blue shell of doom. Why hadn't she anticipated the blue shell of fucking doom?

Nicole could only watch in detached horror as she went spinning out, sputtering to a stop precariously close to the edge of the track. She began pressing buttons in a vain attempt to regain control of her life. "It's okay, there's still plenty of time. I can catch up. I got this, I'm a professional. This is only your second actual race and oH MY GOD FIREBALL NO!"

As she was knocked off of the track, on the other side of the screen Steve was just crossing the finish line. Nicole could only watch in horror, tears pricking her eyes, as the other computer characters whizzed on by.

She came in last. Again.

"Why dear god? Why?" This time the controller did go flying when she threw her hands up, luckily landing against the chair instead of crashing into the floor or something more valuable. Steve didn't answer that question, he just sat there looking so satisfied with himself, watching her. Watching as she began to ponder the truth of her entire existence.

Nicole snapped her head to the side, facing him with a bitter, evil look. He shrugged his shoulders innocently, gingerly setting his own controller on the stand beside his feet.

"You know…" Those blue eyes glittered mischievously. "Cheaters never win."

For a moment she could only stare at him, mouth gaping open in shock. She let those words sink in, processing them, before understanding dawned in them and she threw herself into the throw pillow beside the couch. She made a noise caught somewhere between a shriek, sob, and laughter. It was somewhat hysterical and completely hilarious as made evident by the fact that Steve was no longer able to contain his mirth.

"I hate you so much right now." The words were muffled through the pillow but Steve heard them nonetheless. Nicole honestly considered how much trouble she would get in if she smothered him to death right now, but she could just imagine the load of paperwork that would have to be done if she did that. And considering how much of a fan Coulson was, she had a feeling that her new supervisor would not be pleased.

Didn't mean that the idea was tempting.

"I think you were mentioning something about me eating my words?" That dry response was too much and Nicole grabbed the pillow and whacked him with it.

"I swear to God almighty Steven. Y'all are askin' for a butt whoopin." She drawled, her words becoming thick with her southern accent.

Steve didn't even try to defend himself, he just kept laughing as she hit him. The blows lost force the longer she went and after a few minutes Nicole herself ran out of steam. Blowing a strand of hair out of her face and sounding like a disgruntled horse she sat back against the couch and continued to pout aggressively at the television screen.

"Where are you from?" He asked suddenly, "because that's a southern accent isn't it?"

"Well I was born in Virginia, right outside of Arlington. My mom was a high school mathematics teacher, and that's where we lived until I was six. Then we moved down to Atlanta, which is where I stayed until college." Intertwining her fingers she pushed them up over her head and stretched out her back and shoulders. "I spent college near the Academy of Operations, getting my degree while doing training to become a field agent."

She grimaced as she recalled the sleepless nights, stress headaches and bruises as she'd tried to balance between the two. It had been difficult to say the least, and Nicole had considered quitting more than a few times over the years but… she was glad that she had stuck it out. Especially considering the friends that had been there to pick her ass up after it had been slammed into the ground. Like she had told Steve on his birthday; there had been missions they'd sent her on that had gone horribly, missions that kept her up at night more often than not. Nicole firmly believed that SHIELD was doing the right thing though, even if sometimes it didn't feel that way.

If it hadn't been for SHIELD—and the organization that proceeded it—Nicole wouldn't be sitting next to Steve Rogers. The novelty had long since worn off, it had worn off a few days after she had officially met him, and to her it was a good thing.

That wasn't to say that she didn't like the man. Present circumstances notwithstanding Nicole had a lot of respect for Steve and she was more than happy to consider him her friend. After she had apologized a few days before his birthday, they had reached an easier, more comfortable relationship. He didn't like to talk about his feelings, and that was okay because neither did she. It was perhaps a flaw; people always said that bottling ones feelings up wasn't healthy but… well, to her that wasn't what she was doing.

She processed her emotions logically, just like Steve.

"I suppose you already know where I was born." The blonde muttered, a thin smile on his face. "What with reading my file and all."

"Well, yeah, as well as other things." She still hadn't brought up the fact that there was an entire Smithsonian exhibit on him yet, though it had been rolling around in the back of her mind. And it felt _wrong_ to keep the knowledge from him, it felt like oil dripping down her throat and churning in her stomach. She hated it, but she hated the idea of what would happen when she told him even more. They hadn't had a serious shouting match in over a month, Nicole liked that. She liked that he was relaxed enough around her that he would come sit down on the couch with his sketchbook and pencils without being secretive about what he was drawing. She really liked the fact that he was sleeping a little better as well. She could still hear his fitful rest through the wall, but the night terrors were… well, they weren't better. It would be a long, rough road to recovery but he was making progress.

_Progress_,her mother would tell her late at night grading tests, _no matter how small is still progress. A person should celebrate the fact that they are consistently improving at something._

Regardless of how Steve was doing coming to terms with the emotional and mental strain of jumping the better part of a century, he was a quick mind when it came to learning new things. Especially when it came to catching up on the popular culture over the lost time. And a good way to catch up on the accomplishments of the human race would be to go to a museum.

Telling Steve about the Smithsonian exhibit would prompt him into wanting to make a visit. Which meant he would know exactly how wrong a lot of their information was, and would probably get upset about it.

Granted Nicole had her own reasons for avoiding the nation's capital when she could. Sure, a few months ago she had been living in DC but that had been in between missions and most of her time had been spent at the Triskelion. Less likely for the wrong people to recognize her there and bring up things that she would willingly sell her soul to forget.

Things like screams of pain, wails of ambulance sirens, and the deafening boom of an overheated, highly pressurized explosion that still haunted the dark crevices of her mind.

_I just wanted it to stop. Please just make it stop. Pleasepleaseplease—_

"—ood. What do you think?" It took her a moment to realize that Steve was talking to her, and Nicole lifted a startled gaze to meet his eyes. "Nicole?"

"I—uh—what? I'm sorry, I was thinking." She admitted, schooling her features into a familiar mask. Now was not the time for those memories, or the familiar anxiety that accompanied them.

But then, Steve was a sharp guy and not a lot got past him. "Not very pleasant thoughts it seems. Everything alright?"

The genuinely worried look he gave her was met with a reassuring nod and smile as Nicole dragged her hands down her face tiredly. "Yeah. Well, more or less anyway."

And then he was watching her like _that,_ the way people did when they didn't believe a single word of what you were saying. He didn't comment, he didn't move, he just watched her with skepticism in his eyes and a slightly sour frown on his face. It made sense, if she was allowed to mother him and make sure he was taking care of himself it would only be fair that Steve do the same.

"Okay, I was thinking about something that happened a really long time ago. It's not a pleasant memory, but I've moved on, yeah? At least I tried to anyway, but you know the world doesn't work like that all the time so what can you do? But for the most part I'm a functioning human being and will probably not dissolve into a puddle of tears." Nicole choked slightly on that admittance, shrugging her shoulders and turning her face away so that Steve wouldn't be able to see how uneasy she was. "Anyway, what were you saying?"

Luckily for her he seemed to have picked up on the fact that she really did not want to talk about it at the moment, and let the matter drop. "I was saying, I'm kind of hungry and we should get some food."

"Oh, yeah sure. Were you in the mood to go out, or order in, or—oh!" She flung herself over the back of the couch, legs uncoiling like a spring to propel her over towards the kitchenette table and the stack of papers on it. "I have a coupon for a café that's just over in Greenpoint called Café Grumpy. I mean, on the one hand, yeah we'll have to deal with a lot of hipsters, but on the other hand their coffee is the most beautiful thing I've ever tasted. So is their black pepper and banana cake. If you want something a little more substantial—and look at you—then I also have some coupons for that burger joint on 4th, and there's a bistro on Grand Street that's actually close to the coffee shop. There's technically a café just up the street too, so there's that. But my favorite place is actually up in Manhattan, and I know that's kind of a distance from here but I do need to go and pick up an order from this store in the Upper East Side or…"

She was still flipping through all of the little fliers and coupons that had been sent in the mail when she realized that she was being stared at. That was the point where Nicole realized that she hadn't actually stopped talking the entire time, not allowing Steve to get a word in edgewise.

"Sorry, I'll shut up." She shrugged sheepishly.

"Somehow I find that hard to believe." Steve smirked back at her, standing up to come along to the other side of the table. "But you said you needed to go to Manhattan?"

Standing next to him, Nicole couldn't help but realize just how much bigger than her Steve was. She wasn't short by any means, towering over her 5'2" mother by a good eight inches, but sometimes reality checked in and she remembered that Steve was a soldier that had killed more than a few people. It was easy to forget when they were hanging out, because he was sweet and quiet, someone used to taking up as little space as physically possible but there were moments when his size just couldn't be ignored.

"It's my mom and step-dad's tenth anniversary coming up and I got her a nice bracelet that I need to pick up from a jewelry store. And by nice, I mean I've been saving for the better part of six months to afford it." She fanned her face slightly with the stack in her hands, thinking that the air conditioner needed to be turned up because she was suddenly very warm. "But I can go another time if you'd like."

He shook his head thoughtfully, reaching up to rub the back of his neck with one huge hand. "Well, it's not like I actually have anything more pressing to do today. Why not? It's a nice day out, we can walk around and enjoy the sights. It'd be nice to see what all has changed."

Nice was, perhaps, not the word Nicole would have used. "Alright cool! Let me take Chauncey out really quickly that way we don't come back to any surprises while we're out."

"Okay, I'll secure the plants so that he doesn't knock them over." An unfortunate habit that her dog had whenever he was left alone for a long time was to get up onto whatever surfaces he could manage and knock over her plants. It had taken all of her effort not to shriek the first time it had happened and she'd come home to see her favorite aloe scattered across the living room of her apartment, dirt tracked into the carpet and clay fragments of the pot spread around the windowsill.

At least he wasn't as bad as the cat her housemate had brought.

For the most part Chauncey was being unreasonably reasonable. He went out without too much of a fuss—which couldn't always be counted on—and did his business. He didn't even try and sniff every single tree that they walked past. It was certainly warm out, and rather humid to boot, but the day was rather lovely. As she walked her dog up the street Nicole decided that she would broach the topic of the Smithsonian exhibit with Steve, and see what he wanted to do from there.

There was also the matter of the remaining Howling Commandoes. There weren't very many tangible links to his past that Steve could reach out and grasp, but the remaining members definitely fit the bill. Nicole liked to think that he would enjoy reconnecting with them, but at the same time… was he ready for it? For seeing the men who'd had his back in the war old and weathered while he looked the exact same?

She wasn't entirely sure who all from the old team was still alive, and before she suggested anything to her friend there was plenty of research that she would need to be done.

"Are you ready to go?" Steve asked brightly as she appeared from out of her bedroom, checking through her wallet to make sure that she had everything she needed.

The keys jingled when she grabbed them from the bowl on the table, and Nicole looped her finger through the clip that held the different rings. "Yeah. I hope we can find a good parking spot that's not too far away."

"Provided you manage to avoid getting hit by any blue shells." He offered innocently.

Nicole leveled a deadpan look at the blonde, already fed up with his sass. "Is that how you're gonna do me? Fine, buddy, you're so walking now." She stuck her tongue out childishly, making him laugh.

At least until she lengthened her steps down the hall and towards the elevator. "Hey! I'm just kidding!"

"Are you though? _Really_?" She asked dramatically, arms crossed as she tried to keep the amusement off of her face. "Because sometimes I wonder. And frankly Steve, that hurts. It hurts deep inside my heart."

He called her bullshit with a snort, shrugging his shoulders. "Does it hurt like a fireball?"

Nicole let out an undignified squawk at that, whipping around so fast that it sent her purple hair spinning in an almost perfect arc as her mouth gaped open like a fish. "Y—I—ow! Ow!"

The elevator pinged then, doors sliding open with the barest of rattles. Nicole entered first, leaning back with her arms splayed wide and adopting a pose very similar to the one she had worn in the elevator during their first meeting. She chewed on her lower lip, nose wrinkling as the elevator started dropping with a _whirr_. Her fingers tightened on the support railings, a slight tremor of unease going through her body. She was uncomfortable, her skin feeling dry and itchy in a way that no amount of moisturizer would be able to help. It had been almost three months since her last mission, and in that time with the exception of a few minor parlor tricks she hadn't used her powers once. It wasn't a huge deal, but it was a situation where she could feel the pressure building up in her and looking for an outlet.

She would need to make a trip to the Bank at some point to deal with it, because it always got worse during the dog days of summer.

IOI

Two hours, several shopping bags and half a turkey sandwich later, Nicole was sitting at a wrought iron table looking up at the skyline of the city as she sipped her soda. Steve was beside her, the remains of his BLT forgotten as he fiddled with the leather strap of his new watch.

"It's still a little loose." He muttered to himself, glaring intently at his wrist. "Ah well. It shouldn't fall off at least."

Nicole dropped her gaze to his figure when he huffed in defeat and set his arms on the table with a little force. "It's a nice watch."

He had picked it up while she was receiving the care instructions for her mother's bracelet from the man at the jewelry store. It was a lovely silver bracelet with diamonds inset and small star charms, as well as a maintenance warranty in case any of the stones were lost. It was nice enough that she could wear it out to some of the charity events that Jack went to for work, but not too expensive that her mother wouldn't be able to wear it every day.

The watch store had been a few buildings down, and Steve had chosen a relatively simple analog watch with a mechanical interface. Her favorite part of it was the fact that the watch face had an area where you could actually see the gears moving as the time ticked away. He had been playing with it and trying to adjust the strap to a comfortable diameter for the past hour though.

"It'll do." He agreed, before finishing off his sandwich. His expression looked troubled and considerate as though he was trying to work out how best to approach a subject. "So, you're my liaison to SHIELD, right? If there's something I need I talk to you about it?"

Nicole set her cup down then, attention focused on the blonde fully. "Yeah, what's up?"

"I… ah…" Steve was definitely nervous about something, she could tell by the way his eyes dropped to the chips still on his plate. "Was just wondering about my personal affects. The things recovered from the wreckage, and when I can get it back."

Nicole frowned thoughtfully at that, brain instantly flipping into full work mode as she contemplated his request. Everything from the wreckage would be catalogued and inventoried before put in storage until SHIELD scientists could pour over it. Depending on how high of a priority it was made, that could take anywhere from a few months to a few years. However… "Your personal things… I'm trying to think it wasn't exactly like you had a lot of stuff on the plane. But, I can talk to Coulson and see about what we can get back. The shield and uniform should be down with the rest of the wreckage, was there anything in particular?"

He took a drink of his water, cheeks flushing slightly. "Uh, my compass. I don't even know if it made it through the crash but if it did I would really like it back."

She pursed her mouth, nails tapping against the edge of the table. "I'll shoot an email to Phil as soon as we get back. If memory serves, and it usually does, the wreckage is being housed at the Triskelion so once it's found we'd have to make a trip to DC. Or I can see if it can be shipped down to the Bank."

"You don't have to take me up to DC." Steve offered hurriedly, "I mean, you've already done enough to help, so you can just have it shipped down to save the trouble."

"Steve, it's my job to make sure you have everything you need. More than that, you're my friend and I enjoy helping. So relax. And actually…" Her sentence dwindled then as she took a deep breath. They were already on the topic of it—or close enough anyway—she might as well bring it up now. "Going to DC might be a good idea anyway."

"Oh? How come?" His curiosity was piqued then, and Nicole took an overly fizzy gulp of her drink to collect her thoughts.

It burned a little going down. "Well… the Smithsonian Museum has a pretty extensive Captain America exhibit and I thought you might want to check it out."

He appeared stunned for a few moments, leaning back heavily in his chair as one huge hand came to cover his face. Nicole watched him uneasily, waiting for his response. "Okay."

That… had not been what she was expecting. She had prepared for disbelief, annoyance even, but not the calm resignation. "Okay?"

He arched an eyebrow at her hesitant question, no doubt noticing the way she was tensed. "It's not like I'm not surprised. Hell, they made comics about me when I was _alive_. I'm just wondering if I should expect the same ridiculous story telling of my life."

"Well…" A grimace followed the way she dragged out the word. "According to my grandpa, they got a few things wrong, and some areas are a little more threadbare than others. If you'd like, I can make an appointment with the curator in charge of the exhibit and you can sit down for a nice chat with them."

His response was cut short by the sound of what seemed like a jet shooting by overhead. It wasn't a jet of course, if the cheers of several people nearby were anything to go with. Even so, any wishful thinking that the source of the noise was somewhat normal was dashed by the flash of red and gold that went jettisoning to the dominant force in the skyline. It looked like Iron Man was returning to his tower after a long day of saving the world. Or, at the very least, saving himself.

A few years ago genius-billionaire Tony Stark had been taken hostage in a little cave in Afghanistan. And instead of waiting for the government to come save their number one weapon's producer he had built a suit powered by an electromagnet and rescued himself. That had been when the world had changed, and all of the strange things that SHIELD was working so hard to keep secrets were starting to spill out of the cracks. Just a few months prior in May everything had blown up in what had to have been the most stressful week for SHIELD. Bruce Banner, a man who had been trying to recreate Erskine's original super soldier serum had gone on a rampage across Harlem. The serum had backfired on the man, creating a mixture in his body that had been waiting for the right catalyst to come along and set it off. That catalyst had been a gamma bomb that had turned him into an eight foot tall green beast known as the Hulk.

And while they were still trying to clean up Harlem, an unknown artifact had dropped down in the form of a hammer in New Mexico. A hammer that had been very familiar to Nicole. The aftermath of that included the knowledge that Earth was not alone in the universe, especially as an alien weapon known as the Destroyer had—as the name implied—destroyed a small town in the desert. The aftermath of Thor's visit to Earth had… it had brought with it more bad news than she was willing to deal with. Nicole had wanted to be on the team that went to deal with the New Mexico incident but she couldn't. Fury had wanted her keeping tabs on Banner, and she couldn't rightly explain that she personally _knew_ the Asgardian. Nobody outside of her immediate family knew the truth of where she had gone during the summers since she was six. And considering the fact that it was a secret that she was keeping from _the _Intelligence agency, Nicole couldn't imagine what telling her boss would do. She could imagine though, and that was bad enough. From what she had pieced together though… the whispers she had heard through SHIELD and later when Frigga had sent a projection to her apartment. Loki had died, and everything had hurt.

Before she could process that, however, Tony Stark had started acting even more erratically than usual. Coupled with the fact that the son of one of Howard Stark's jilted business partners had decided to build his own suit and then attack Madison Square with drones… it had been very busy indeed. SHIELD had sent their best to deal with the three separate incidences; Natasha Romanoff had infiltrated Stark's staff as his personal assistant, Barton had gone with Coulson to New Mexico and she had been in charge of the team that had been working to keep the government off of Banner's back while he slipped back into hiding.

Now that his little crisis was over though, Stark had seemingly turned over a new leaf and was acting as a consultant with SHIELD regarding matters that were above her pay grade to worry about. She had only met the man a few times in her life, before his father had died, and she had been less than impressed. Especially considering that their first official meeting—when she hadn't been a child—had ended with him being drunk and throwing up on her.

"So that's Howard's kid." Steve mused thoughtfully, eyes trained on the tower as well. "I don't believe it."

Nicole wrinkled her nose then, scooping up the remains of her yogurt and granola. "The similarities between the two are remarkable, really."

That caused a small, funny smile to spread across his face. "I'll believe it. Still, underneath all of his bluster Howard was a good man."

"And underneath all of _his_ bluster, Stark is still an ass." Nicole offered cheerfully, watching as the waiter came up with their check. She immediately reached for it, at the same time that Steve did. The blonde was quicker than her though, collecting the leather folder and flipping it open in mild interest. "Steve…"

She wasn't one to allow people to pay for her meals, especially when she had the means to take care of herself. Steve, however, was as chivalrous as a man from the thirties could be and leveled her with a stern glare. "Nicole."

"I can pay for myself." She growled determinedly, arms crossed over her chest.

"I'm aware that you can. But weren't you just mentioning how much that bracelet—and I quote—_made your bank account cry_?" Brown eyes narrowed on him then, and she reached for the check only to have him jerk it out of her reach.

"Let me at least cover my food." She complained, making him shake his head.

His lips twisted into a slightly sour, stubborn expression that she was beginning to realize meant that she was not going to get her way. His features smoothed after that, though the stubbornness didn't leave his eyes. "We're adults, Nicole. This isn't a big deal and I'm paying."

Clearly ending the matter Steve pulled out his wallet and laid a few bills in the folder. Waiting like a preying animal, the waiter scooped it up before Nicole could protest, let alone slip her own money into it. They were left with her glaring bitterly across the table over her cup. "If it makes you feel any better, you can pick up the bill next time we go out."

It did, kind of, and she tossed her balled up napkin at his head. Steve caught it of course. "Fine, but I'm leaving the tip."

He looked like he was about to argue, but caught himself as his mouth opened. Steve shrugged instead and Nicole had to resist the urge to whoop in victory. Instead she folded a few bills and placed them under her now empty glass. As they sat there waiting for Steve's change, she turned her eyes back to the silhouette of Stark tower.

"You know, you can meet him if you'd like." She offered after a few heartbeats. It took the blonde a second to realize what she was talking about, but his eyes followed hers to the tall building. A wistful expression crossed his features before it was gone again, and he looked oddly serene.

"Maybe one day." He decided, the harsh line of his shoulders slouching slightly. "But I don't think I'm quite ready for that yet."

"Yeah? Alright, that's fine. We'll just take small steps then."

Because progress, no matter how small, was still progress.


	6. Chapter 6

**Longest chapter so far (almost 10k) and again I'm so sorry that it's so late. I'm already busy at work on chapter seven, so it should be on time. **

**On a more personal note, I've settled back into the swing of university and hopefully everything should be evening out. I hope.**

**I'm going to warn you guys before you get started with this chapter, it features into one of Steve's therapy sessions dealing with PTSD and survivor's guilt. I suffer from neither of these things, and while I've been researching everything I could for this chapter I have no experience in psychology or any of its sister-schools. It is not my intention to upset, or misrepresent anything in this chapter (or this story at all) and so if I messed anything up, please let me know and I'll do my best to fix it. **

**Once again, I love you guys for reading this, I hope you're enjoying the bromance, and thank you so much for all of the favorites/follows. **

**Adara.**

**P.S. I don't own any recognizable characters, and this is written purely for fun.**

Chapter Six:

_1942, Location: Italy_

_The march back from the HYDRA base was fraught with tension, everyone able to hold a gun was armed and coiled with tension like a rubber band about to snap. They would go all night if they could manage it, and Steve would be more than willing to push them if he could. But the men were exhausted, no matter how tough a front they put up, and there were several injured that needed tended to. Which was how he found himself calling a forced march of over three hundred men, several trucks and even a tank to a halt in the woods of Italy. _

_As soon as they were all settled, Steve found himself the focal point of just about everyone; they were all waiting on him for further instructions._

_This was definitely new._

"_Alright…" He couldn't let his nervousness show, any respect he had gained from these men tonight would require a competent hand to keep. "I want the most able of you to get around to setting up a perimeter. Now, we blew up that base, and HYDRA is probably pretty scattered right now, but I don't want them catching us with our pants down."_

_As soon as the words were out of his mouth the group began murmuring quietly around themselves, surrounding Steve with as much noise as there were people in the chilled woods. Some began breaking off from the main hoard, setting upon themselves the desire to follow his orders and make sure that nothing came during the night to surprise them. After a few moments of deliberation, more followed._

"_If there's anyone here with medical training, we need the injured patched up and ready for transport. Anyone who can't walk gets a spot on one of the transports. Everyone else, see what you can do to help out. We've got a long way to go, and I need everyone at their best. We leave at dawn, and as soon as we get enough light I'm gonna need some of you fellas to scout ahead and look for water, roads and any other potential threats." Perhaps for the first time he was a little grateful for his fame; there weren't many soldiers questioning who he was and after he had broken them out of the prison cells most were willing to follow his lead. _

_After he had given them all something to do, the soldiers broke apart into little groups and set about making their camp as comfortable and safe for one another as physically possible. There were a few who would cut looks at him from the corners of their eyes but for the most part the soldiers were content to fall back into some semblance of routine and leave Steve to his business. _

_Which actually worked out better for him because it gave the blonde the opportunity to check on Bucky. He'd been fine as they'd left the smoldering remains of the weapons factory, matching Steve's pace and gripping his gun tight to his chest without uttering a single word of complaint. To anyone else it might have seemed that Bucky was right as rain, but during the course of the night he'd gotten quieter and quieter, jaw tense and locked, and he had begun stumbling. About a mile and a half back he'd tripped over some exposed roots and no amount of effort on anyone's behalf could make him get back up._

_He was in bad shape by the time they had moved him into the bed of the truck, getting a bit of water down his throat. By the time Steve had navigated himself to the truck where his best friend had been settled in, he wasn't even surprised to see a now familiar crowd waiting outside of it. And they all notice him as well, taking a few steps to the side because somehow the tall, muscular man translated into the scrawny Steve Rogers that their Sarge hadn't shut up about. _

_Only one person thinks to block his entrance, challenge in every cell of the big man's body. He's got sharp eyes, though most of his face is hidden by a bristling ginger moustache and a bowler hat. Steve felt his own body tense up at that, his hands clenched into fists from where they were shoved into his pockets. The large man didn't seem to notice, and he did a quick scope of Steve before both their attention locked on the truck, and the grunts of pain coming from within them._

"_How is he?" Steve asked, forcing an edge of politeness even though he wanted to shove his way inside and damn anyone who got in his way._

"_He's better." Dugan admitted with a grimace, "but in case you didn't notice they really worked him over."_

_The concern surprised Steve, but he had picked up early on that the group of men; Dugan, Falsworth, Dernier, Jones and Morita were friends. And more than that, they considered Bucky one of them. That alone earned them the benefit of the doubt, and so Steve was trying to remain on good terms with them. "What the hell happened to him in there?"_

"_Same thing that happened to all of us, Cap." Morita—who was at least partly Japanese—shrugged, pulling his hat tighter on his head. "We worked in the factory, until we were too sick or weak to keep going. Then you were taken back to the labs and with the exception of the Sarge, you were never seen or heard from again."_

_If Steve had any hesitation in trying to stop Schmidt before, it was now gone. He had seen the little dots on Bucky's skin, the bruises and cuts from where they'd experimented on him and it made him see red._

"_So you're him, huh? Captain America? Funny thing, Jimmy never mentioned that his brother was famous." Dugan added, his tones sly and with the faintest tones of hostility in them. "I've read the comics, yeah? But that still don't explain much." _

_The big man didn't trust him, it seemed, and judging by the sheepish glances of the others neither did they. At least, not entirely anyway. "Yeah, I'm him. And Buck didn't mention it because I didn't actually tell him. Look we go way back, alright? He's my best friend and he has been for a long time, so when I heard his unit had been captured, I came to find him. If there's something you wanna know that will make you relax just ask."_

_As it turned out, there were a lot of things that they wanted to know._

IOI

_August 26, 2011, SHIELD base: The Bank, Location: New York_

"You look well, like you've been getting more sleep." Laura Cross leaned back in her chair, one leg crossed over the other as she studied the file on her desk—his file. "Have you?"

"I don't know that I'd call it _more_ sleep exactly, but it's been more restful." Steve shrugged, fingers laced together and settled in his lap. Dr. Cross looked at him then, a curious expression on her face.

She clicked open her pen, hand poised over a notepad. "Okay, let's talk about why that is then. What's changed since last week?"

Steve took a deep breath, frowning slightly. He hated this, he really did; he wasn't one who enjoyed openly airing his issues. He preferred to deal with them personally, and not having other around to poke and prod and see just how messed up he really was. He wasn't really given much of an option though, because Fury wouldn't even consider letting him out there to do any real work until he got the all clear from the therapist. And he had tried to lie his way through the woman's questions, had thought he'd actually been succeeding but Dr. Cross had completely blindsided him when she'd admitted she knew what he had been attempting the entire time.

That being said, after he'd agreed to actually try—both at the insistence of Nicole and Cross—he found that the woman was remarkably easy to talk to ever since he had established some ground rules. She was willing to move at the pace he was most comfortable with, but at the same time she had made him well aware of the fact that he wasn't going to get cleared until they'd dealt with a few key points. The main one being Bucky, which he was decidedly close lipped about. It had only been a few months—relatively speaking—and the pain of the loss still cut like a knife and bled like a stab wound. Would he get to a point where he was willing to talk about it? Maybe. It depended on how badly Steve wanted to get back out there.

"Things have been a lot less antagonistic lately, between Nicole and me." He answered finally, staring at his hands. "Which has made things less stressful I suppose. And I've been going out more."

Dr. Cross smiled then, seeming genuinely pleased. "That's good to hear. It's often difficult to relax and open up when you're dealing with stress on different fronts."

Her hazel eyes focused on him, sharp and probing. "Now, as you know Director Fury assigned agent Dugan as your liaison. It was his hope that you'd reach out to her as a friend. Would you feel comfortable discussing how your relationship has changed over these past two months? In your last sessions you've made a few comments about how the dynamic between you two has shifted since your birthday, would you care to elaborate?"

"Well, when we first met, I didn't really think much of her." He admitted, setting his hands on the arms of the chair. "Granted she did lie right to my face. The first week was… not nice. I purposely went looking for arguments and she didn't back down in the slightest from them. After she apologized we sort of started over, and it's been slow going, but I feel like we're getting somewhere. Lately though, I've been thinking that something is wrong."

"How so?" He frowned into his lap at that, thinking back to the past week. She'd been getting distant, as though her thoughts were a million miles away, and she'd just stare off into space. When he chanced a look over at her during those times he was always surprised by what he saw; she looked small, like a child, lost and terrified. And then she would get this broken expression on her face, as though she'd seen something too horrible to talk about.

"She just… she isn't herself. She's been so sad and quiet lately, and I just feel like there's something bothering her. Something she's not telling me." He answered, fingers drumming against the chair.

"Well, Nicole is a person, and the thing about people that makes them so unique is that they're complex creatures by nature Steve. It's entirely possible that there is something bothering her, but she just doesn't feel at a level where she's ready to talk about it." The psychologist took a second to sip at a glass of water. "For some it takes a lot of time to open up and share secrets, and that doesn't necessarily reflect on how she feels towards you. It could be something that's been bothering her for a long time that she's used to not telling anyone about. Have you expressed your concerns to her?"

"I… seems kind of hypocritical to me; I mean it's not like I'm any more forthcoming." Steve turned to look out the window, watching the clouds roll by from above.

Dr. Cross set her pen down, following his gaze. "I don't think so. You care about her well-being, and consider yourself her friend. Now, granted, I'm not telling you that you should expect her to reveal every deep, dark truth, but there's nothing wrong with telling her that you've noticed she seemed upset. Just let her know that you're concerned and if anything is wrong you're there to listen."

"I just don't get it through; she's usually pretty happy, but sometimes I look over and she's so sad or scared." And then she'd catch him looking and the vulnerable expression would be gone.

"Nicole is certainly an enigma." A strange, thoughtful smile crossed the woman's face then. "You've come to care a lot for her, haven't you?"

"She's my friend, doc, and she's helped me a lot. After losing B—well, after everything that's happened I really didn't think I'd be able to go back to normal, to find any reasons to laugh. And I'm not sure how, but Nicole has definitely proven me wrong." His fingers dug into the leather and padding, making the wooden frame of the chair groan in response as something dark settled over him. "Sometimes it's good, but then I think, why am I happy? What gives me the right? It's not like I deserve it; I shouldn't be alive. If anyone should be here it's Bucky. Why am I given a second chance when I failed to save my best friend?"

She gave him a sympathetic look, sitting forward and steepling her fingers. "Steve, you have what is commonly referred to as survivor's guilt. It's very common in those who went through personal loss and is often considered a symptom of PTSD. You feel that you should have died, but survived instead. And then, when you find yourself happy about the fact that you're alive, when you find reasons to celebrate life, you instantly feel guilty again."

"I'm not anyone special doc. So yeah, maybe I think that there are people who deserved to be here more than me." Like Bucky. If anyone should have survived the war it was him; Bucky had been smart, he'd had things going for him. Howards had been willing to give him a job at Stark Industries, girls had been waiting for him to come home, his ma and sisters… whereas all Steve had really had was Bucky.

"The first thing that you need to understand, and this is usually the hardest for survivor's to come to terms with, is that there is no offense in surviving. You didn't do anything wrong by living through what has happened to you. And there's nothing wrong with cherishing the fact that you're alive either, whether it's by laughing or being happy." She paused to wipe down her glasses, replacing them on her nose.

"Another thing that happens in situations like these is that survivors often find themselves dealing with old issues of self-worth. But there are people who are very glad that you're alive Steve, even if it might not seem that way. You matter to a great many individuals and I think you'll find that there are people who disagree with your previous statement. And I don't just mean as Captain America; yes you've inspired a nation but what about those that care about _you_?"

She took a breath, jotting down a quick note. "You have a support network, even though you might not realize it. Agent Dugan, if you consider her your friend, is just the tip of the iceberg. You are aware that some of your old companions, the Howling Commandoes are still alive. Have you given any thought to going and seeing them? They're your friends too Steve, they'd be glad to know you're alive."

His features turned into a sour frown at her words, and he glared down at his feet. "I've thought about it, but… they've got their own lives, they've all long since moved on."

"Another thing I've noticed; you view yourself as rather unimportant." She noted, "Give them the option to make that decision for themselves."

"Look," the blonde growled in sudden annoyance, "why am I still even here? I don't need you psychoanalyzing my every thought. Whether I have low self-esteem or whatever has no impact on my ability to do my job or follow orders. So why don't we skip all of this crap and you just let me go back to work?"

The woman watched as he sprang to his feet, leaning back in her chair to get a better look at him. She was perfectly calm, unflappable as he began to pace back and forth. Steve was getting really tired of these sessions, of people telling him how to feel or process _his_ emotions. He knew damn well what he was feeling, and whether or not he was fit for duty.

"Steve." Dr. Cross called softly, her voice never raising more than half a pitch. "I'll tell you why you still have to come to these sessions; it's not just me trying to make you relive every horrible memory or emotion you've ever experienced. But the thing you have to come to terms with is the fact that you did go through something very bad. And you might not realize it but things over in our areas of conflict over seas aren't that much better. Director Fury wants to make sure you are at your very best before you go back to active duty and that means talking to me."

Her expression softened slightly at that, and she began flipping through his file. "Though, I was going to save this for the end of our session, I may as well tell you now. You've made some great progress with me these past weeks, though you might not realize it. So, here's what I'm thinking; if you try—and I mean genuinely try—to reach out to your old friends, I'll reduce your meetings to twice a month. _And_ I'll clear you for some light duty."

He froze at that, pinning the woman with an almost disbelieving look. "Just like that? Really?"

"Not quite 'just like that', no. We'll discuss what happened in our meeting, and if I think you're ready—barring any severe negative responses—then we'll see." She corrected him somberly, meeting his gaze unflinchingly.

There were stipulations, there was always a catch, but… it was something. Better than nothing at the very least. Steve watched the woman with a guarded expression, becoming potently aware of the fact that he was now standing after what was essentially a temper tantrum. Embarrassment made his face hot, and he shoved his hands in his pockets as he tried to inconspicuously check his watch. It still felt uncomfortable on his wrist, two days wasn't quite enough time to break it in it seemed. Right now, as he realized that there were still twenty minutes left, the watch felt heavy like a shackle.

"So, has anything new happened recently? Anything you feel like sharing?" She kept the phrase worded neutrally, tapping her pen on the edge of her desk.

"I'm going down to pick up some of my things, the stuff I had during the crash was shipped over from DC. We're supposed to go get it after this." He informed her, walking around the office. Books lined the shelves on the walls, clean and dust free as well as more than a small numbers of little decorations; a plant here, a statuette there… the wall space behind the desk housed the woman's degrees, all rather impressive truth be told, and the recessed lighting in the ceiling gave the room a bright, open feel to it. It was nice, and well enough put together.

Steve had long since routed out the best escape route, and all viable alternatives.

Dr. Cross arched an eyebrow, not commenting on the fact that he was still pacing around her office. In truth it wasn't the first time that Steve had done something like this, occasionally he was unable to force himself to sit still. Instead she waited patiently; he would elaborate on that statement, or he wouldn't. But one thing was for certain, the saying _you can lead a horse to water but you can't make him drink_ was never more applicable to anyone than it was to Steve Rogers.

They chatted for the remainder of the time, the topics staying very light. He told her about the things they were going over with the historians and how he didn't quite understand all of the nuances of the rise of 90's boy bands, and the psychologist offered some helpful explanations. Once his time was up, he was actually in a surprisingly good mood.

The Bank was a flurry of activity as people went through the halls, some dressed in white collar business attire and others wearing the black tactical gear-or some modification of it-that he had seen Nicole in that first day. A few people nodded in greeting, he recognized Erin from accounting who had helped him get his bank accounts set up, and Dr. Hastings, who was working with Director Fury about when to share the knowledge that he was alive with the rest of the world. They had consulted him on the matter several times, but no official decision had been made yet. At the moment they were trying to keep news of him quiet, that way he could adjust peacefully.

The one person he didn't see was Nicole, who had told him that she would be waiting in the lobby once he got done. But a quick look around confirmed the lack of purple hair anywhere nearby, and Steve felt a sour frown twisting his features. The woman was supposed to meet him and they would go down to the basement together, where SHIELD kept most of the things they had in on-site inventory. He would consider going alone, but two things stopped him. One, Steve wasn't entirely sure where in the basement the inventory was or whether or not he would be allowed access without a full time SHIELD employee and two… well, he had _asked_ her to come with him for moral support. Not that he had actively admitted it to her, Nicole would have gotten that stupid grin on her face and probably never let him live it down. But still, he had to admit it was nice having her around to talk to.

Just not when she was God knew where and they had an appointment to keep.

So he wandered the halls, looking for a familiar face while checking the locations he thought she was most likely to turn up at. After asking around the cafeteria, the training grounds and the rec rooms as well as receiving more than a small amount of looks, Steve was ready to call it quits and pull out his phone to call her. His hesitation to use the piece of machinery didn't come from any lack of skill with it; he was a quick learner and had long since mastered the basic functions of the cell phone, but… he was just so unused to it that he often forgot about the thing.

As soon as he pulled it out of his pocket, rounding the corner on the third floor, he saw her. Nicole was leaning up against the wall, looking out of place wearing a pair of jean shorts and a bright orange tank top with a book clutched close to her chest and deep in conversation with a tall man who… had he met before?

He wasn't close enough to hear what they were talking about, but whatever it was the discussion was very animated. The two were clearly very familiar with one another, an observation made all the more obvious as Nicole started laughing and shoved at the man gently. He barely moved, but it wasn't long until both of them were laughing. It was, perhaps, the first time it really occurred to Steve that Nicole had a life outside of what he saw at the apartment. And it really shouldn't surprise him, in all of the years of her life she was bound to have friends and experiences that he didn't know about, but watching the two joking about something drove home the point that Steve didn't know as much about his housemate—his friend—as he should.

He knew a little, how she got started in SHIELD, when her birthday was, but for the most part Nicole's past was an unknown and the basis of his knowledge regarding the woman was the observations he had made in the past couple of months. A thoughtful frown curved his features as that knowledge settled in, and Steve found himself thinking about Dr. Cross' words earlier. Right about now, just looking at her, it would be easy to assume that Nicole didn't have a single care in the world. But Steve remembered the expression on her face just before they'd gotten lunch on Wednesday. Complete and total abject terror.

"The Russians were after us like crazy, so John and I just ran into the first building we could find." The man was telling her, laughter barely contained in his voice. "Turns out we were interrupting the weekly poker game of an opposing gang. The guys chasing us came barging in after and everyone sort of froze with us trapped in the middle."

Nicole listened with wide eyes, a disbelieving smile on her face as she covered her mouth with one hand. "Oh no. Trip, no."

"Oh yeah. John just looks at me, shrugs, and then flips the poker table. There were cards and chips flying everywhere. It was like a spark in a powder keg and everything blew up. We managed to escape out the back, and then Fury was just pleased we managed to make it look like SHIELD wasn't involved at all." Nicole dissolved into laughter again as he finished his story, trying to muffle the sound with her hand. He approached the pair almost warily, being noticed as soon as he entered within normal hearing range.

Nicole struggled to regain herself, straightening from her almost hunched position as she smiled apologetically. "Oh, crap, I'm sorry Steve. I was waiting for you, but then I got sidetracked by Agent Coulson who had a few questions, and I was on my way back down when I ran into Trip. He's a field agent like me, and he just got back from Moscow."

"Antoine Triplett." Steve looked at the man curiously, accepting the outstretched hand. He hadn't heard the name before, but he wondered if they'd seen each other in passing at the Bank.

"Steve Rogers." It was a firm handshake, and Trip gave him a sort of awed, dazed smile.

"I know who you are. No way could I have grown up without knowing who you are." His attention then swung over to Nicole who was studying the book in her hand with a very intent look.

She looked up sheepishly, wrinkling her nose and chewing on her lower lip. Steve threw her a confused look while her friend pinned her with a mildly betrayed, questioning one. "Ah. A-ha, well… Level seven clearance, Trip."

"How do you two know each other?" Steve interrupted suddenly, withdrawing his hand and taking a slightly defensive stance near Nicole. The way that he was looking at her, this guy didn't exactly seem too friendly.

Until those dark eyes flicked back to him, and the man's entire posture changed. Steve wondered if it was a trait inherent to all SHIELD agents that they could flip through their emotions so quickly. "We grew up together, sir. Old family friends."

"I was practically raised with Trip, especially after I moved to Georgia. We went through Ops together and he's an old friend of the family." She explained, rubbing the back of her head.

"Yeah," The other man added wryly, "Our grandfathers were old war buddies."

That simple phrase triggered recognition, and Steve felt his eyes widening in surprise as the face clicked. "Gabe?"

"Well, it certainly wasn't Morita." Trip laughed good-naturedly, shaking his head. "But yeah, that's my gramps. I've certainly heard a lot about you."

"I… how is he?" Steve asked hurriedly, looking at the agent in a new light.

"He's doing alright. Long since retired from the front line, he's back home in Macon where he still plays his trumpet from time to time." He answered, glancing down as his phone buzzed in his pocket.

Nicole noticed as well, watching as he pulled the device out and tapped at the screen. "Is that Garret?"

"Yeah, looks like we're heading out on another mission. Because some of us don't get the easy jobs." He teased, before pulling her into a quick hug. "Hopefully next time I come back we'll have time to catch up."

"Don't get yourself killed then!" The purple haired woman offered cheerfully, though there was a concerned edge in her voice.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Cap." Trip added, offering the barest sketch of a salute as he started back tracking, body turning down the hall.

"And you." Steve watched as the young man bounded off, feeling a sense of vertigo washing over him. It felt like he had just seen Gabe looking only a few years older not even a year ago and now here he was looking at his grandson. It was bizarre to say the least.

Nicole looked at him then, her eyes dark and filled with worry no doubt in response to the bewildered expression on his face. "You okay?"

He regarded her question critically. _Was_ he okay? It was hard to say, really, because even now everything still seemed so raw. Meeting Triplett, seeing Gabe's grandson who looked almost the same age as him, was a painful reminder that so much of his life had changed. So much of it had been stolen from him. And he was being given a second chance, sure, but how could he not feel the keening pain of all that he'd lost.

"I… don't know. I really don't." She gave his shoulder a light squeeze, and it was a gesture that he found himself taking an incredible amount of comfort from.

Nicole chewed on her lip, watching him carefully. "Steve, if you don't want to… we can do this another day."

And he believed her, he believed that if he really wanted to he could turn around and ask her to take him back to the apartment. She wouldn't press, she wouldn't judge him, and that would be that. But Steve Rogers wasn't one to turn around and run away from something, no matter how unpleasant it might be. He squared his shoulders, steel reinforcing his spine as he tried to wipe any discomfort off of his face.

"Don't see how waiting any longer will make things better." He noted wryly, lifting his shoulders in a heavy shrug. Nicole offered a sympathetic look, looking down to check the watch on her wrist.

"You're probably right. Anderson should have your stuff pulled the arrivals and ready by now, so shall we?" She offered with slightly forced cheer, gesturing towards the elevator at the end of the hall. The plan had been to drive up to DC to pick up his things, and head to the Smithsonian museum, but apparently after her email to her supervisor, Agent Coulson had went ahead and told them to send the box down. Which was how he found himself with his roommate, who was inspecting the object in her hands.

He nodded toward the book, taking a few strides towards the elevator. "Whatcha reading?"

Nicole looked down, face twisting into a mask of confusion followed by surprise as though she had forgotten all about her book. "Oh! I loaned this to Trip awhile back. It's Tolkien's _Silmarillion_, the precursor to his _Lord of the Rings_ Trilogy and the _Hobbit._"

"What's it about?" Because neither of those titles made any sense whatsoever to Steve.

"It's basically the incomplete collection of mythology for the land that the other books take place in." She bit her lip shyly as she hit the down button for the elevator. "Um, if you want you can read it."

He smiled down at her, surprised at the sudden nervousness. Nicole had her eyes locked on the doors as they began their downward descent, but he could see the faintest shade of pink underneath her freckles. "Is it any good?"

"Oh, it's fantastic." She offered with brief excitement, "I love everything by Tolkien! The _Hobbit_ is my favorite though, because it's more high fantasy, pure adventure. He wrote it while using his eight year old son as a sounding board for ideas, so it doesn't get quite as dark as the _Lord of the Rings_. Which, don't get me wrong I love those books too, and the movies—oh man we should watch the movies—but the Hobbit is definitely my favorite. They've considered adapting the _Hobbit_ into a movie too, and I'd love for that to happen, but with the scope of the _Silmarillion_ I don't know if it'd be possible to do a movie on that scale. But if you wanna read these, I'd recommend starting with this one or the _Hobbit _because—I'm sorry, I'll shut up now. I just get really excited about these books."

There was a certain vulnerability on her face then, the way she ducked her head in embarrassment that allowed Steve a brief glimpse beneath her outward cheerfulness. The way she assumed that he didn't want to hear her talk about one of her favorite things, it made him wonder how many people in her past had told her to shut up about it before. It was the first time he had ever seen even the slightest indication of self-esteem issues, and he felt a surge of protective anger go through him to know that someone had discredited his friend in that way.

Instead of voicing those thoughts he simply held out his hand towards her. "May I?"

Nicole passed the book over silently, eyes flicking up to him as he read the inside of the dust jacket. He had to admit the book did seem interesting, and as his fingers thrummed over the broken in spine he noticed that it was well used and well loved. "Looks good, I think I will read it."

"Really?" Nicole looked up at him with a slight, hopeful expression on her face. "I have the others too, if you want to read them. And we can watch the movies, there won't really be any spoilers."

He grinned as the excitement began to filter back into her voice, tapping the book lightly with his hand before tucking it into the crook of his elbow. "Well, I'll say yes to the movies but let's let me get through this one first."

"Sure!" The elevator dinged, followed by the doors sliding open a few seconds later as a familiar smirk curved the woman's lips. "I mean, no Steve, you have to read them all at the same time."

"Well, darn it." He groaned, "There goes my weekend."

They shared a laugh at that, stepping into the basement storage unit. They walked down a long hall, passing through an open metal grate leading to a counter with a thick steel door to the left of it, kind of like the vaults at an actual bank. The overhead lights were recessed, the fluorescent bulbs flickering ever so slightly as they walked. Rounding the corner they came to an elderly man sitting at a counter with a sign in sheet and ID scanner. He peered up at them over his newspaper, the rectangular lenses shining in the light.

"Can I help you?" He asked, folding the newspaper closed to inspect them over the tent of his fingers.

Nicole fished out her ID badge, showing it to the man. "Agent Dugan, clearance level seven. I have an appointment with Dr. Anderson to pick up a few things?"

The guard flipped through a stack of papers on his side of the counter, bushy eyebrows furrowing in concentration. "Alright, just sign in and swipe your badge. I'll let him know you're here."

Nicole clicked open the pen as the guard reached for the telephone, scribbling her name, the date and a hasty signature on the form before passing the barcode of her badge through the scanner. As soon as she was done she leaned her back against the counter, arms braced and fingers curving over the edge as they waited. Steve looked up as the red light over the steel door turned green, followed by the rumbling roll of the internal locking mechanism groaning into motion before it started to slide open.

A shorter man was standing in the doorway, his back slightly hunched from the weight of carrying boxes to and fro. He had a calm face, pale and drawn from long hours under fluorescent lighting and crow's feet lining young eyes prematurely. The young man straightened slightly, hands in the pockets of his coat as he noticed the pair of them.

"Agent Dugan?" He asked, voice kept low and hushed. "I'm Dylan Fisher, we talked on the phone about some item recoveries?"

Nicole nodded emphatically, wearing one of her charismatic smiles. It was the kind of look that seemed to make the room a little warmer and a bit brighter. "Oh yeah! I'm so glad you guys got back with us so quickly too, I hope we weren't too much of an inconvenience!"

Fisher returned the expression, eyes widening slightly at the woman's friendliness. "It wasn't a problem at all Agent Dugan. To tell the truth the boys back in DC haven't even began to scratch the surface of dealing with the plane." The man turned back to look at Steve, eyes widening. "Is this—? It's an honor to meet you Captain! Everyone was real thrilled to find you in the ice. None more so than Coulson, but that's because—anyway, I don't suppose you have any ideas about the technology?"

And then Steve found himself bombarded with questions running a mile a minute about anything and everything ranging from what had happened just before Schmidt had disappeared from touching his cube to how they had converted the thing into energy for power. Over Fisher's shoulder Nicole gave him a sympathetic look, before screwing her face up and sticking her tongue out in a way that had him struggling to keep from bursting out laughing.

"I'm sorry," Steve interrupted a long explanation about the possible functions of different pieces of the wreckage with a slight shrug of his shoulders. "I was kind of more focused on stopping the plane than understanding it."

"Oh! Oh of course sir, I didn't mean to imply—"

"Agent Fisher!" They all looked over at the stern voice that belonged to a man wearing a long white coat. He looked more like a field agent than a doctor, with a well-muscled physique even in his age. Streaks of white hair shot through his temples and his angular features were lined from the years but the doctor carried himself like a man thirty years his senior.

"Dr. Anderson! This is Agent Dugan and Captain Rogers, you made an appointment with them over…the…phone." Fisher let the sentence dwindle, a slight flush of color rising to his face at the cool look his superior was giving him.

Dr. Anderson arched an eyebrow, frosty gray eyes turning to where Steve was standing next to Nicole. "So glad you could make it. We have your things in the back. All we need is your signature and thumbprint and you can take it with you."

"This isn't all your stuff, not by a long shot." Nicole explained, shoving her hands into her back pockets and stretching out her shoulders until they popped. "But this is the immediate effects that were recovered from the wreckage. I've already got a few people looking to collect as much of your stuff from your footlocker as we can find."

The look he gave her rang with sincerity, and Steve offered a small smile to his friend. "I appreciate it."

"No problemo, _il capitano_!" The purple haired agent looked incredibly proud of herself and dissolved into sniggers not long after. Dr. Anderson didn't say anything, opting to roll his eyes and lead them down the long hallway.

It was almost stereotypical, with wall to wall shelves and everywhere in between, boxes and folders stacked to the ceiling. As they navigated down all of the shelves, each corridor nearly marked with signs and letters, a flurry of people wearing skirts and blouses or nice slacks and sweaters, navigated around them. As expected Steve got more than a few looks—one young woman almost ran right into a shelf holding an impressive amount of metal crates—but for the most part the people down here were far too involved with their work to notice the four individuals making their way through.

They came to a well-lit area with glass walls and lab tables covered in pieces of equipment that looked like it had come right out of one of those old dime store science fiction books. Inside the room a pair of scientists were working, a young woman with light brown hair and wearing a set of jeans and a flannel shirt as well as a man with unruly dirty blonde hair and an oversized sweater. They looked to be dissecting a piece of machinery and bickering back and forth with each other as they worked. Steve paused to watch them for a few seconds, eyes narrowing at an almost familiar blue glow that was emanating from the machine.

"That's Fitz-Simmons." Nicole noticed his distraction, pausing beside him. "The girl is Jemma Simmons and that's Leo Fitz. They're partners and probably some of the smartest people SHIELD has working for them. Fitz is a techno-god, and those two have been best friends since they were in the Academy."

"Right now I believe they're working on a new type of tranquilizer." Dr. Anderson added, rubbing a hand along his pointed chin.

"Those two are absolute geniuses!" Fisher added enthusiastically. "The stuff they can come up with is phenomenal, and out of the simplest things. They're basically like the MacGyver's of SHIELD."

"So I see." He noted, brow furrowing as that reference went right over his head. The longer he stared at the blue light, the more memories started rising up in the back of his mind. Savagely pushing them down Steve ripped his gaze away from where the two were working to focus solely on Dr. Anderson. "I'm sorry to hold you up, let's get this done so that you can get back to work."

"It's no problem at all Captain." The older man inclined his head slightly, turning on his heels and resuming his pace.

Steve followed behind, but not before Nicole put a hand on his arm. She was giving him a questioning look, brown eyes seeming to see right through him and the worry in them was as obvious as the question.

_Are you sure you're up for this?_

He shrugged his shoulders, the barest of nods all of the reassurance the woman needed.

Well, Steve knew that she didn't quite believe him but Nicole dropped her hold and lengthened her stride to catch up to the briskly walking doctor.

"Alright." They came to a halt not far from the glass room, where there were several sealed boxes and crates. "I'll get you the release forms and Agent Fisher can go grab your box. It's marked GP-061511.02A, Dylan."

The younger man nodded, dashing off and muttering the code to himself. As they watched him go Dr. Anderson pulled out an electronic tablet, handing it to Steve along with a pen that wasn't a pen. "Just sign in the blue area, press your thumb against that green square and it's all yours."

The instructions were simple enough to follow, even if the not-pen—stylus, Nicole helpfully offered—fit his hand a little awkwardly. The print scan took all of a few seconds and as soon as it finished the tablet projected the word _scanning_ in bold red letters before his picture appeared along with a short list of facts. Dr. Anderson took the tablet briskly, his cool air of professional aloofness made even more evident by the way he discretely checked his watch and glared down the row of shelves that Fisher had vanished down.

"Oh hey." Nicole drew his attention brightly, scratching at her arm before brushing out the wrinkles of her shirt. "So I was thinking that we could pick up some lunch on our way back. How does chicken sound, because I have been craving KFC and their biscuits for a few days."

He recognized a distraction when he saw it, but Steve had to give the woman credit for trying. Rolling his eyes slightly at her, he could feel the corner of his mouth twitching. "You're a bottomless pit, Dugan, so I'm not surprised that you're hungry. But that sounds fine."

"Oh, I'm the bottomless pit? I'll have you know, Rogers, that you've almost eaten us out of house and home multiple times." She glared playfully at him, any sting in her words lessened by the expression on her face.

"What can I say? Super soldiers are always hungry." He quipped back, earning a mildly offended gasp.

"I think you're just using that as an excuse to be a pig." The woman replied haughtily, arms crossed as she swiped her hand under her nose. The inventory of the Bank was definitely more than a few degrees cooler than the rest of the building and Steve had a feeling that right now Nicole was deeply regretting her choice in clothing.

He was about to answer her, make note of how cold she looked, when Dr. Anderson pointedly cleared his throat. That was when they noticed Fisher coming towards them carrying a container. It was longer than it was deep, made out of plastic and with GP-061511.02A stamped on the lid in bright yellow.

"Here you go, all of your personal affects taken from the helicarrier." Fisher added helpfully, setting it on the table.

Steve looked at the box with mixed feelings, taking a deep breath as his fingers found the latches of the lid. The first thing he saw as he pried it open was his shield. The vibranium disc looked no worse for wear, a few scuffs in it from gunshot and being knocked around but overall whole. When he slipped his arm through the straps—cracked and looking as though they needed replaced—he felt something in him sort of click. For so long he'd carried this shield, it'd been as much a part of him as the arm it rested on and it felt… well it was a relief to have it back. Squaring his shoulder Steve tested the weight of the shield and held it close to his chest for a few moments, chancing a look up at Nicole.

He found his eyes meeting hers, an unreadable expression on her face. The woman looked so serious and contemplative before she gave herself a visible shake and grinned at him. "Looks good."

"Thanks." He added dryly, setting the shield down on the table before turning his attention back to the box. His uniform looked neatly cleaned and folded, lying on top of it was his pistol and a combat knife as well as two sets of dog tags—his and Bucky's—and…

His fingers were slightly numb when they closed around the compass and Steve lifted it out of the box with more than a little trepidation. The tremors that went through his hand were nearly imperceptible, and he hesitated upon opening it.

Taking a deep breath he pushed through his hesitation and flipped the compass open. A surge of disappointment went through the blonde when he saw that Peggy's picture was gone, but he wasn't really surprised. The water would have long since dissolved the paper before freezing over. At least he had it back.

"Is there anything missing?" Dr. Anderson asked lightly as Steve carefully began repacking the box.

"Not that I can think of, no. Nothing important anyway." He answered honestly, fingers tracing along the edge of his shield. "If I remember something I'll—"

A loud flash of light filled the area, coming from the glass box, followed by a huge bang of exploding energy. As soon as he heard it Steve was jumping into motion, survival instincts honed by war springing into action. He pulled his shield close, drawing it up protectively over his chest as his other arm wrapped around the woman standing next to him. Without a moment of doubt he flung them both to the ground, rolling under the table and sheltering Nicole's body with his own.

His brain went on complete lock-down as he tensed over her, eyes scanning the area critically as his heart thudded in his chest. For a second he wasn't in SHIELD's base, but back in the war and there were HYDRA cannon's firing at them from all sides.

Steve's vision cleared not long after that, the roar of blood in his ears dying down enough so that he could hear Nicole speaking.

"—2011, Steve. Everything's fine, it was just a miscalculation. Problem over in the lab, we're safe." She soothed, blinking up at him. That was when he realized that her arm had hooked around his neck and she was holding him just as tightly as he was holding onto her.

The blonde shook his head slightly, the tips of his ears turning red as he scrambled off of his friend, crawling out from under the table and jumping to his feet. Agent Fisher was watching the pair in interest, while Anderson had hurried off to the source of the noise. They could easily hear the man shouting obscenities, and the faint scent of smoke wafted over to them.

Nicole's emergence from underneath the table drew his attention, and Steve clamped his hand on the back of his neck as he stammered an apology. "I—I'm sorry. I just heard the explosion and I thought… shit."

"It's okay sweetie. You don't have to explain anything, I completely understand." The purple haired woman shrugged sheepishly, swiping the back of her hand across her forehead. "I was expecting an attack too."

That was when he noticed the flashing silver of the knife caught in a white knuckled grip. A knife that he'd had no idea she had been carrying. "You're… armed?"

"I'm a field agent, I'm always armed." Her brows furrowed. "Are you alright?"

"Better now. What happened?" Steve craned his neck to see Fitz-Simmons emerging from the glass walled lab. Neither of the two scientists looked actually injured, but they were clearly shaken up.

"I'll be bushed if I know." Nicole answered, nose wrinkling. "I'm completely bio-chem and stabbing things." The purple haired woman slipped the knife back into a sheath that was fastened to her back.

"I can't believe you've been armed the entire time." He shook his head, watching Dr. Anderson snap at some lab assistants.

"I'm always armed." Nicole smirked back, waggling her eyebrows. With anyone else Steve might have considered those words boasting, but after seeing her fight as well as pull a weapon almost out of thin air he was convinced.

Fisher snorted at those words, brushing out his shirt. "Always armed doesn't even cover it. Dugan's practically a machine; her mission in Glasgow put her right up there on the list with Romanoff and Barton."

The woman's face turned red, a distinctly uncomfortable, somewhat cagey look twisting her features into a grimace. "It wasn't that big of a deal. I just did my job."

"Did your job?" Fisher exclaimed in disbelief. "We're still speculating on how you started that fire! How did you do it anyway? There weren't any sources of flame or electricity to use. Not that anyone could tell anyway, the power had been shut off in the warehouse and all."

Steve noticed the trapped look on her face, the way she was withdrawing into herself and making herself seem busy by collecting her book after it had flown out of her hand and decided to intervene. "I think we should get going. After what just happened, we're really only going to get in the way. Plus we have to let your dog out."

The look she gave him was one someone reserved for the highest of idols, and he tucked that away for material against her later. The woman liked teasing him about all sorts of things, he needed to build up some dirt on her as well. "You're right. It's been a pleasure, Agent Fisher and tell Dr. Anderson I said thanks for his help but we really do have to be going."

She practically slammed the lid shut on his crate, carding a hand through her hair and backtracking the way they came. After a brief goodbye Nicole lengthened her strides to get them away from the agent as fast as she could possibly manage, something that did not escape Steve's notice. "What happened in Glasgow?"

Nicole groaned softly at the question, dropping her face into her palm as she lifted her ID to the scanner to open the steel door. "I'd really rather not talk about it right now. It was a shit mission that did not end well for me… and yet people seem to think it was one of my finer moments. It was definitely one of my bloodier moments."

He quirked a single eyebrow at that, adjusting his hold on his belongings and following her past the security guard and to the elevator. She saw his look and shrugged her shoulders, lips twisted into a distasteful grimace. "Unlike a lot of the newer agents, I happen to be of the mindset that the less people killed the better. Which was _not _the case in Glasgow. I usually have to be a lot less sober to tell that story."

"Alright, I get it. I won't pry." The elevator ride was mostly silent after that, Nicole flipping through her book and Steve attentively studying the container in his hands. He thought back to his session with Dr. Cross, and her stipulations for getting him back into the field.

He wanted to wait to bring it up to his liaison but before he could stop himself his mouth was opening and he was speaking. "So there's a chance that I can get back out into the field soon. Nothing major, just some light duty."

Nicole looked up cautiously at that, carefully closing her book. "Oh?"

"Dr. Cross wants me to get into contact with the Commandoes first. Afterwards she said she'd talk to Fury and get me cleared. I was wondering if we could…?" The question died off before the end, and Nicole focused her attention on him fully.

"If you really want to, I'll call my grandpa and start making some inquiries. I'll make up a list of who's where and doing what and we can tackle it whenever you're feeling ready though it will probably be after our trip to DC." There was something off about her words. They were spoken lightly, calmly, but there was something else in the undercurrents.

"You don't approve." He stated, looking up as the elevator doors opened at the parking garage.

Nicole released a deep sigh at that, pulling her keys out of her pocket. "It's not that… not exactly anyway. I just… I don't want you to end up trying to barrel your way through this when you're not ready so that you can get back out there. I want you to do this because _you _want to, because you can handle it."

Those words touched him, and Steve straightened after shoving the crate into the trunk. "I do want to do this. I've been thinking about it for a little while now actually, Nicole, Cross just gave me the push. Maybe just start slow, not everyone at once and go from there?"

The trunk closed with a snap and the purple haired woman peered over at him warily. "If this is what you want, I'll start working on it as soon as we get back." Her entire demeanor changed in an instant as she let the matter drop. "But first we need lunch because I'm so hungry I could eat a horse."

The way she accepted his words and his reasoning without further argument was a relief, and Steve felt his body lose some of the tension it had been building up as he prepared for a lengthier argument. That was something about the woman that he appreciated; Nicole trusted him to know how he felt. She would sometimes push if she felt he was hiding something, or when she could see right through him but for the most part his house mate accepted the fact that he wanted to make his own decisions.

Though as they rode in the car—her singing along to a catchy song on the radio and him staring out the window—he wondered if she would be nearly as accepting when he broached the subject of her own feelings. Because Steve was still worried about the look she'd gotten on her face after their game a few days ago and he was determined to resolve the issue.


	7. Chapter 7

**Boom! On time! Yassssss!**

**Not much to say about this chapter, it's more of a filler, character exposition and the like. Some fun, slightly exaggerated fight scenes and everything. **

**I want to say thank you to the folks who have been favoriting/following this story, because I honestly start smiling like a major dorkatron whenever I get a notification saying that someone else jumped aboard… like really though, the expression on my face terrified my roommates the first time it was awesome. And of course a big thank you to you guys that have been with me since the beginning!**

**Basically thank you to everyone who actually takes the time out of your lives to read this because I'm so glad that you actually think it's worth it.**

**So much love for you people. All of the love, keep up the good work.**

**And as per usual, don't own anyone recognizable, all for fun, ****construct more pylons**** and the like.**

**Adara.**

Chapter Seven:

_April 06, 2009, Location: East Side, Glasgow, Scotland_

"_Listen here, you little shit." On most days, normal days, Nicole Dugan considered herself to be a reasonable person. Granted, most days she wasn't handcuffed to a chair in an abandoned warehouse in the slums of Glasgow with a busted open lip. "I'm going to give you one last chance to cooperate before things get ugly. Let me go now, give me the names of the people who hired you and we can call it a night."_

_Magnus Patterson just smirked down at her, taking a long drag from his cigarette. Actually, it was hers and simply requisitioned from the equipment that had been taken upon her capture. Right now her things were neatly arrayed on a small cart; her cellphone, wallet, and purse as well as a battered pack of Marlboro's, two short throwing knives and her pistol. Nicole watched as the dark haired man picked up one of the blades, twisting it through his fingers. _

"_And why would I do that? I have you completely at my mercy, darling." A hand fisted in her hair, pulling it back as the knife pressed tight against her throat. The metal bit against her skin just enough to send a bead of crimson on a gravity driven path down her neck. The message was clear, she supposed; it would only require a fraction of energy to cut her throat._

_Granted, Nicole had been trained for this situation so she was less concerned than perhaps wise._

"_Is that really what you think? You're waiting for backup and I just want my answers before I have to kill you." Patterson had been a run of the mill criminal; it wasn't the money laundering that had drawn SHIELD's attention, or the meth lab that was tucked away in the back corner of their base of operations. Those were standard and typically they'd be more than willing to let the police handle things. But when word had gotten out of bigger fish in the sea, information and weaponry going missing only to show up at inopportune locations… it was time for intervention. _

_What had begun as an undercover mission for information was rapidly approaching its end in a secluded building in the middle of an unwanted area. People here didn't care if your neighbor was selling drugs or if a woman ended up dead two streets down. The utility of this place was that out here, nobody could hear you scream. _

_But that road went both ways. _

_Patterson pulled back, lips drawing back into a snarl that revealed yellowing teeth and the stench of smoke. Not that she could exactly say much; after a few hours packed in a sweaty club Nicole wasn't exactly the most pleasantly smelling herself. "It is a shame that I will have to kill you."_

_He exchanged the knife for her gun, flipping off the safety and checking the chamber. "You were such a pretty thing too."_

_Nicole gripped the back of the chair in both hands, jumping to her feet and—using all of the forward momentum—running towards Patterson. The man tried to back away at her approach but Nicole was moving too fast and tightening muscles that had undergone years of rigorous training she jumped into a front flip. The legs of the wooden chair slammed into the man, knocking him back with a spray of blood as his nose broke and sending her crashing to the ground. The strain of her weight and the force of gravity against the flimsy wood had it splintering when she went slamming downward, jabbing pieces of debris into her back. The sparkling black sequins of her dress tore at that and Nicole bounced back up with a glare that could melt through steel._

"_I told you, I want names." She growled, handcuffs dangling from her otherwise unimpaired hands, carrying herself forward and grabbing the back of his head. Diplomacy was her preferred method of negotiation, but the redhead also appreciated the value of a little brute force._

"_Who. Are. Your. Suppliers?" Each word was punctuated by her beating his head into the wall, before she tightened her hold to snarl into his bloody face. "Answer and I won't kill you."_

_There were a great many things that could contribute to Patterson's sudden cooperation at that moment; brain trauma from being used to bludgeon a wall was a strong possibility. A sincere belief in her threat—it was somewhat empty, she most likely wouldn't kill him—or perhaps the realization of what a hopeless situation he was in. Of course, the fact that her eyes had gone from dark brown to blazing orange probably had a lot to do with it. At least that was what she was betting her money on. _

"_Y—you won't kill me. You need information." He stammered, making the woman grimace in annoyance as she went about returning her things to her purse. _

"_I need names, Mr. Patterson. And if you're not willing to give them to me you are of absolutely no use." Came the frosty response, point driven home when she turned her weapon onto him. "So I would recommend you get real chatty with me sweetheart."_

_Hazel eyes flicked from the gun to her expressionless face and back before Patterson swallowed thickly. "V—Vanchat. He's the one that's been buying up information and weaponry. You've got to protect me from him, h—he'll kill me if he finds out I rolled."_

_She checked her watch, gaze slipping to the door. "SHIELD thanks you for your cooperation Mr. Patterson. We're going to get in your car now and—"_

_Her words were cut off by the sound of a cracking window, the only warning she had before blood sprayed across her dress and Magnus Patterson fell to the ground. The redhead snapped her attention to the entry point, one broken window out of a number of them. It was the only warning she had before she was swarmed with gun fire on all sides and people running in trying to kill her. _

"_Pour l'amour de Dieu, pourquoi est-ce toujours moi__?" She muttered to herself, dodging behind an upturned table. There was absolutely no way that she was going to be able to escape cleanly, not without taking a few hits herself. And with this mission not supposed to have ended in a fire fight, her extraction plan was practically nonexistent._

_An idea dawned on Nicole as she twisted her head to look back at the dirty chemical equipment assembled in the back corner. There were two things she knew for certain about the outcome of her next course of actions; she was going to need a new set of clothes and Fury was going to kill her._

"_No time like the present." First she would need better cover, such as the small room missing a door that served as the office area of the floor layout. Main problem? There were about twenty people between it and her. _

_Nicole pushed up into a crouch, her arm throwing in a wide gesture that created a wall of blue cored flame between her and Vanchat's men. Above the sound of people actively trying to kill her she could hear a few shouts of surprise and even more shrieks of pain by those caught in the fire. But she couldn't focus on that, not if she wanted to make it out of this place alive, and then the woman was running for her dear life wearing a blood stained, sequined party dress and clutching a beaded bag to her chest. As soon as her outstretched hand brushed across the edge of the wall Nicole made a jabbing motion in the direction of the equipment. It felt… it felt like heat rippling through her arm towards her fingertips in perfect sync with the motion, disappearing as soon as the half-moon shaped wave of fire went soaring._

_The resounding explosion sent Nicole slamming into the far wall, tucking her head underneath her arms as the whole place went up in flame. She let the fire wash over her, feeling her dress burning slightly even though her hair and skin remained intact and it wasn't until she was sure everyone was either dead or gone that the woman dared to lift herself up._

_Thirty minutes later she was back in her hotel room, listening to May explain to her just how much paperwork she was going to have to sign now. _

IOI

_September 03, 2011, Location: 19th Street, Brooklyn NY_

"Fucking damnit." Stupid kid had to go and bring up Glasgow, didn't he? Now Nicole couldn't seem to keep the memory of the mission out of her mind. It hadn't been the worst she'd ever gone on, but it _had_ been one of her earlier missions. The first one that she'd done solo.

And like she'd been expecting, Fury had been absolutely pissed that she'd resorted to using her powers. All things considered, at least she'd been able to make it plausibly look like an accident. They'd caught Vanchat, but without enough substantial evidence couldn't convict him and had been forced to let the bastard go. It hadn't gone the way she'd been hoping, but most of the agents were pleased at how many of his people had been taken out and the fact that the police had no suspicion of SHIELD's involvement.

It hadn't gone as planned, it hadn't went down the way Nicole had hoped, but it was over and done with. Except people still liked to bring it up and brag about it from time to time, such as Agent Fisher.

Nicole threw her pen down onto her desk, pulling her feet off of the surface so that she could sit up straight. It was pushing past one in the morning, and by all means she should be asleep but… her eyes landed on the notebook in her hands, where it was resting between her knees. She had been compiling information for Steve in regards to his old teammates. He had expressed an interest in finding out about them after Dr. Cross had promised to clear him for light duty if he spoke to them, and since last Friday she'd been busy as a bee making phone calls and getting in contact with family members to dig up as much as she could about them.

That had included a lot of calls to her grandfather, who was currently spending some R&R time with her mom in Georgia. The anniversary party was coming up soon, which would bring all of her family down to their house in Atlanta, or surrounding hotels Nicole included, ideally. She had a thought about that, actually, both Papou and Gabe would be there for the anniversary party, so she could always bring Steve with her. Then again, it would be a hugely crowded event—whereas her family was restricted to only herself, her grandpa, aunt, uncle and a couple of cousins, Jack had a lot of siblings—and that might create a sensory overload on her friend.

It was something that they would talk about in the morning.

If he wanted to give it a shot, well, Nicole would kill for some distraction from her family. Even if it was only someone to sic all of her aunts on because if another one of them asked why she hadn't found a sweet guy to settle down with she would go to jail. They meant well, but after her last failed relationship Nicole was not in the mood to explain—again—the reason why she felt the urge to focus on her work at the moment.

Trying to stave off _that _particular headache, the purple haired woman pulled open the top drawer of her desk. Pushing around a roll of duct tape, some index cards and a few books she retrieved one of a great many sets of headphones that she owned and plugged them into her laptop. Putting the ends into her ears Nicole turned on her music, blasting it at almost 100% as she turned her attention back to the notebook. From what she'd found, her grandpa and uncle Gabe were the only ones left from the Howling Commandoes; Colonel Phillips had—unsurprisingly—passed away but Peggy Carter was still alive. According to her great niece Sharon, or Agent 13 as she was more commonly referred to, the woman was suffering from a bad case of dementia.

Nicole had addresses, next of kin, everything Steve could possibly need to find and connect with the people he needed to. Which meant that technically she had done all she could in that regard and could finally go to bed. Except her brain was still wired, every time her eyes drifted shut for even the quickest of seconds she recalled the taste of vaporized blood, and she now had loud, angry music screaming into her eardrums.

So she did what any normal, well adjusted, human being would do… tossing the notebook onto the desk, she made a cup of tea and started playing _Oblivion_ on her computer to get ready for the upcoming release of their new game. The game was really rather quite fun, and cathartic in a way that it allowed her to run around stealing the clothes off of villagers' backs before she set them on fire.

_I'm walkin' these train tracks, tryin' to regain back  
>The spirit I had 'fore I go back to the same crap<br>To the same plant, in the same pants  
>Tryin' to chase rap, gotta move ASAP…<em>

Nicole was halfway through destroying Hammerfell, her head bobbing in time with the beat, when she realized that there was someone watching her. Her first instinct was to throw something, but as soon as she felt that precognitive prickle on the back of her neck every muscle just sort of tensed up. Until she realized that, no, nobody was trying to kill her and it was just Steve standing in the doorway of her room rubbing his eyes and looking like he just woke up.

"What can I do for you, blondie?" She asked, pausing her game and pulling the headphones out of her ears as she swiveled to face him.

Steve shoved a hand through his hair, trying to restore some semblance of order to the tousled strands. "I…" His voice came out hoarse and gravelly from sleep, but underneath that there was something almost raw about the tones. "Woke up and was going to get a glass of water. Saw your light on and thought I'd see what you were up to?"

As he took a step further into the room the desk lamp cast soft shadows across his face, almost disguising the fact that his eyes were rimmed with red.

_I had another nightmare, and wanted someone to talk to._ Steve didn't outright say those words, but Nicole heard them anyway and, propping her chin up on one hand, used the other to wave him into the room.

"Well, if I were a responsible human being I would be asleep. However, I'm just playing a computer game." She answered brightly. "And trying to shatter my eardrums."

"You're setting people on fire." Steve noted dryly, losing whatever remains of sleep he had. Nicole scoffed at that, muting the sound from her laptop as she studied him fully.

"Yeah, well, only after I robbed them all first." She answered brightly, causing a twitch that could almost be considered a smile. "But it's not important, really, because I already beat the game. So what's up? Do you wanna talk about it?"

"Do _you_?" The blonde pressed, perching himself on the edge of her bed—it had actually been made in between the last time she woke up and now—and wrapping his fingers around one another.

Nicole blinked in surprise at that question, surprise that quickly shifted into confusion, and then concern as she turned her most innocent smile at him. "What do you mean?"

She had been feeling off lately, that was true, she hadn't used her powers for more than a couple of cheap parlor tricks in more than a few months and her life had gotten more stressful than usual. Especially with their upcoming trip to DC—that they still hadn't planned the date for—something that Nicole was definitely not looking forward to. There were reasons that she liked to avoid the area, she had hated living in DC, especially between missions and those times where she didn't have to report to the Triskelion regularly. Reasons that were still listed as unexplained on her public records, people that had had their lives changed in the worst possible way because of her.

But she had thought she'd been doing her absolute best to keep Steve from noticing that; he had enough on his plate to deal with, there was no reason to drudge up her problems as well. And damnit, Nicole Dugan was an agent of SHIELD, she focused on diplomacy and charm to get what she needed so it shouldn't be hard to project a mask that said everything was fine. It was what she had been doing for almost all of her life, lying so that everybody believed she was okay.

Of all the things Loki had taught her over the years, it was the one she used every day.

"Something's wrong. It's upsetting you, I can see it." There was something fierce in those words, something daring her to call him a liar.

This was one of the things that she would look back at and be able to recognize as a turning point in their friendship. Not because she told him the truth and explained why she was feeling so anxious lately—she definitely didn't do that—but because she lied.

"I'm fine, Steve. I… it's something that happened a long time ago, that I should have gotten over already." One truth and two lies; the fact was that it _had_ happened a long time ago, when she was six, but it was one of those things that a person shouldn't ever really be able to get over. It wasn't something that she had ever gotten over, and it wasn't fine. Because they would drive through that city and Nicole wouldn't be able to help but think about what had happened at that school; what she had _done._

And Steve knew that she was lying; try as she might there was no way that Nicole would be able to convince someone like Steve Rogers to believe a lie that she couldn't even commit to. It was blatantly obvious in those sky blue eyes that he saw right through her, in the way his jaw clenched so that the muscle jumped before he relaxed his face with a sigh.

"Alright." He answered after a moment, pressing his hands against his knees. "But… look, I know you've been doing a lot. Putting up with me, and everything. You've been a good friend Nicole so I just want you to know that the street goes both ways. When you're ready."

And that was the moment that Nicole knew that the dynamics of their friendship had changed; they had moved past that two month period of testing the waters and settled into something more comfortable. That they knew when they were lying to each other, and they let it slide because that meant they weren't ready to deal with the real problem.

At some point she would tell Steve the truth, all of it, every up and down not out of any sense of obligation—though he did deserve to know what he was living with—but because for the first time in more years than she cared to think about, she found herself trusting another person. She trusted that he wouldn't just start making accusations, or try and hold the information over her head but he would listen and… well if not accept who she was, at least they would know where they stood.

"Thank you. And… when I'm ready." The words falling off of her lips felt more like a promise than anything else, and Nicole was surprised at how sincere they were.

That promise turned out to be all Steve needed, because he leaned forward slightly and made a gesture to the notebook that had been discarded and almost completely forgotten about. "That the research you've done so far?"

"Among other things." She confirmed, flipping past the pages filled with chemical compounds, research ideas, and sketches of dragons fighting dinosaurs, to where she had started her list. "Here, if you want to take a look."

Steve scanned over her curly handwriting, eyes tracing over the ink marks and most likely committing them to memory. There were only one or two instances where he had to go back and reread a line or two, a few words that he stumbled over and needed deciphered, but for the most part the blonde was completely silent. Nicole watched somewhat anxiously, picking up on the tension of his features and the weight that filled his eyes. On instinct, and to offer what comfort she could, the purple haired woman grabbed the candy dish full of skittles and held it out silently.

"No thanks." Steve responded quietly, voice heavy with unspoken words as he forced himself to gently close the notebook and pass it over. "So it's just Dum Dum, Gabe and…"

He had trouble over that last name, catching himself and clenching his jaw again.

"Yeah." Nicole answered quietly, pausing to take some of the red candies and push them around her palm. "Uh, well, like Trip said before Gabe is down in Georgia and… well, my mom's anniversary is at the end of September, the twenty eighth to be specific, but they're having their party the weekend before that and my grandpa is going to be there. So is Gabe for that matter."

He watched her pop a few of the candies into her mouth silently, a ponderous look on his face. Nicole just chewed into them, breaking the outer shell, before continuing. "It's gonna be a pretty big event; Jack's got a _lot _of family that live in the area, but I'm going to be down there anyway."

"Jack?" He asked, making her roll her eyes. That _would _be what he picked up on.

"He's my step-dad. He and my mom got married ten years ago now, when I was fifteen. He's a nice guy, a sports reporter." She plucked up another handful of skittles, tossing them into her mouth without distinction. "He's somewhere in the middle of eight, all of them girls but two, and everyone married with their own brood of kids. Except for Uncle Charlie, he's sort of the stereotypical crazy uncle I love him so much. And then on my mom's side it's only her, gramps, and my uncle Mark. He's married to my aunt Ellen, they have a couple of kids. One's my age-ish, Kate, and the other one is just a little thing about to turn four." Nicole loved talking about her family, as crazy as they could be from time to time.

"That's a big family." Steve frowned slightly then, a contemplative look knitting his brows together. "I don't know, I don't want to intrude on your family event."

"Oh… oh _no_, sweetie." She urged with a slight laugh. "You would not be intruding in the slightest. See, you're mistaking my motives as being completely altruistic which they are definitely not. You'd be coming as a distraction and friend as much as to help you out."

At his quirked eyebrow the woman tugged her laptop shut and rubbed her nose. "Yeah I mean you'll be going to talk with Gabe and my Grandpa, but that would be way before the party. I'm taking a week off to go see my mom and help out. But what I really need is another person with me because of my aunts."

"Your aunts?" He asked curiously, the barest of amusement evident in his eyes.

"They keep trying to set me up with people, especially since it's been a couple of years since my last relationship. And if I have you with me, then they won't bother me nearly as much!" Nicole crossed one leg over the other, lifting her chin off of her hand. "Not that I'm saying you have to pretend to be my boyfriend or anything! I haven't done that since high school. No I'll tell them that we're just friends and they'll read into it however they want. You don't have to do anything except be yourself and possibly answer some uncomfortable questions, though that's more a perk than an actual requirement."

"Oh thank goodness." Steve drawled sarcastically. "Because no offense, but I don't think you're my type."

Nicole looked hurt for about a second and a half before her brain registered his tone, and she tossed a piece of candy at his head. "Shut up, blondie, or I'll set you up with my Mama Josie… she's roughly your age and I bet she can take you for a spin."

Steve laughed at that, picking up the green skittle and tossing it back at her. "If you're gonna treat me like that, I don't know if I want to go with you."

Rolling her eyes she caught the candy in her mouth before smirking over at him. "So you wanna come? You'll probably get to learn all sorts of embarrassing things about me… such as when I went through that grunge phase."

Steve smiled at her, his expression becoming more relaxed and open throughout the course of their conversation. "Yeah, I'll come. If you're sure I won't be too much of a bother."

"Nah, we're from the south Rogers! At least, me and my mom are anyway, but the point is that hospitality is our forte." She assured him with a slight shrug. "I'll have to call my mom and let her know I'm bringing a spare. And not to kill. There will be no killing of the spares."

"Huh?" He cocked his head curiously at her reference, making Nicole sigh.

"Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire; Harry and Cedric—the spare—get transported to a cemetery for a dark ritual to resurrect the Dark Lord Voldemort and…" He was completely lost, they hadn't gotten to those movies—or books—yet, but Steve was valiantly trying to follow along. "It's from a movie. We'll get to it, but it's not really important."

Steve nodded at that, and they sat there in a comfortable silence as the blonde puzzled through his thoughts. His expression turned inward, mouth opening before shutting again in a display that—while reminisce of a fish out of water—Nicole recognized as someone with a question that they weren't sure how to ask.

"Something on your mind, Rogers?" The purple haired woman asked lightly, leaning back in her chair as her eyes snuck over to the clock on her night stand.

It was already one-thirty.

"I… It just occurs to me that I don't really know too much about you. I mean, even after two months I've only learned a few things." He muttered after a moment, gaze kept studiously away from her face. "Not that I'm expecting your life history or—"

"No, you're right." Nicole pursed her lips as she realized that she really hadn't told him much. "Which is kind of unfair if you think about it so I'll tell you what; ask away, I'm an open book. Mostly."

"You sure?" Those blue eyes locked on her in surprise, and Nicole suspected that Steve had probably figured she was going to close up or say something vague.

"Well," Her nose wrinkled slightly as she chewed on her lower lip. "Let's avoid talking about my missions but other than that, yeah. I'm open to answering questions. Friendship building, right? Want to paint each other's toenails?"

"I think I'm good." He replied dryly, shaking his head. "I… okay, well, why do your aunts keep trying to set you up with people?"

"Ha. Go big or go home, I guess. I met my ex-boyfriend a year out of college, and things were getting kind of serious. I took him to meet the fam and Drew hit things off really well with them, they all loved him. But things did not end well, and afterwards I decided to just focus on my work." Nicole shook her head bitterly, thinking back to how upset her aunt Cathy had been. "Well, most of Jack's family leans more to the traditional side of things, and I think they're ready for me to get married and start popping out babies which, no."

They meant well, and for the most part they'd come to understand the fact that Nicole really wasn't looking for romance… especially considering the news she'd received at the beginning of the summer.

"Why didn't it work out?" Steve paused, a small splash of color rising to his cheeks. "I mean, if you don't mind me asking."

"Oh you should have seen me when it first happened; nobody could stop me from telling the story." Nicole took a deep breath, grasping for the right words. "In the thirties and forties, for the most part people were heterosexual; one boy, one girl, that was the societal norm. Of course there were different sexualities during that time, but they weren't nearly as accepted as they are now, or as well understood. I identify as demisexual; I only feel sexually attracted to someone after forming a deep emotional bond with them, and for Drew… well, that wasn't happening as quickly as he'd liked so we broke up."

Nicole grimaced at that, making a quick amendment. "No, okay, that wasn't the main reason we broke up. At least, it wasn't to me. It was a significant issue and I don't blame him for being upset about it, we'd been together for a year and a half and he's definitely on the sexual side of the spectrum. The argument stemmed from a lack of communication between both of us, there was fault on both sides."

"Isn't it common to not want to do that with someone you're not close to though? At least it was." She smiled at her friend then, rolling her shoulder and wincing at the loud pop.

"To want to have sex? Usually, yeah though there are people much less inhibited about their bodies than they used to be. But there's a difference between being sexually attracted to someone and actually wanting to have sex with them. Like, for some you just see a banging brunette walking down the road and you think she's gorgeous. You may be sexually attracted to her, it can be instantaneous, but you don't actually expect to have sex with her. Or him, I suppose. It doesn't really matter to me what you find attractive." She explained, stretching slightly.

"I see…" The thoughtful expression was back again. "So he wanted to, but you didn't?"

Nicole nodded, flicking her hands in an absent gesture. "Drew and I had a lot of problems, really. There was a lot I didn't tell him, he wanted to be more emotionally open than I did, and we were both stressing out over work and just getting out of college. So we were going to break up at some point anyway, things had just gotten too comfortable and neither of us really wanted to change. By the time we actually got around to discussing the reason why we hadn't had sex yet, we were both looking for an excuse to bow out."

She still remembered throwing the glass at the kitchen wall of her apartment, the fragments landing on the floor as they both shouted at each other until they were blue in the face. "Things were said that should not have been said. I handled it very immaturely."

It had to be the most that Nicole had ever actually talked about herself to Steve before, and as the words kept pouring out of her mouth she felt oddly comfortable about it. "The really unfortunate thing was that if I'd just vocalized more of my problems, you know, actually _talked_ to him I think we could have parted on friendly terms. So don't let anyone tell you that it's always the guy that's the problem; I was definitely the asshole in that breakup."

"But!" She added, "I learned from it and I've since worked through a lot of communication issues. Mostly because my job requires it, but also for, you know, personal reasons. Now that we've got that off of the table, what next?"

Steve decided to play it safe after that question, asking her some very basic demographic questions; what it was like having a teacher for a mom—horrible—what her favorite color was, her preferred hobbies, and what she had studied in college—purple, video games, reading and the internet, and biochemistry. Then he asked why she'd gone through Operations to become a field agent if she'd wanted to become a biochemist.

Nicole had to dodge around that answer; she'd looked into biochemistry to try and figure out more about her abilities, though her first intention had been to apply to the Academy of Sci-Tech. Instead she'd switched out to Ops mainly—at least, this is what she told Steve—because she wanted to be a field agent like her grandpa. If he'd caught onto her hesitation he didn't react, and they swapped questions back and forth for a few more hours.

For the most part Nicole asked Steve either confirm or debunk some of the stories she had been told as a kid. It turned out that they did _not _sneak into a HYDRA base undercover dressed as women—which she had long since suspected was a lie because her grandpa could not pull off eye shadow to save his life. She also learned that when he first freed the would-be Howling Commandoes he tried to assure them by claiming to have knocked out Hitler over two hundred times. That had tears of laughter streaming out of her eyes, trying to imagine how anyone could even respond to that statement.

And then she asked him a little bit about before he'd been given the serum.

"I had to have been around seven years old, just got the all clear to go back to school after a really nasty cold, and on my first day back I was already picking a fight on the playground." He explained, a nostalgic smile on his face. "The kid was a couple grades higher than me, he was ten I think, and double my size. I'm a mess on the pavement, bleeding and bruised when suddenly I hear someone call out to us."

Nicole was listening avidly, legs crossed on her chair and a pillow held on her lap. "Was it Bucky?"

"Yeah," A sad smile crossed Steve's face then, pain lancing across his features as he swallowed. "He comes out looking well pressed and all clean, hair combed and everything, and just looks at Pete. 'It's a big man that can beat up a sick kid half his size, asshole.' He said, just rolling his sleeves up. 'But let's see if you can pick on someone your own size.'"

"I thought he was gonna get clobbered just like me; Buck was big sure but Pete was a monster of a kid. He went to swing and then Bucky just… he just wasn't there. All it took was one punch, right to the nose, to send the kid running home to his ma." Steve scratched absently at his jaw. "I remember I was just looking up at him trying to catch my breath when he helped me up. 'If your stupid ass is determined to get yourself killed, kid, someone had better look out for you.' We were friends ever since."

There was something lost, hurting on his face then but Steve gave a self-deprecating shrug and looked up at her tiredly. "Anyway, that's how we met and—"

Before he could finish that sentence Nicole was launching off of her chair and pulling him into a tight hug. She felt Steve tense up against her, no doubt he wasn't exactly used to people tackling him with affection, but after a few unsure moments she could feel his arms wrap around her and squeeze back. "I'm so sorry."

"Thanks." He murmured, leaning into the embrace. "H—have you ever lost someone close to you?"

Nicole pulled back slightly at that question, leaning her head against his shoulder as her gaze fixed on a bracelet sitting on the top shelf of her desk. It was gold, with an old Nordic pattern etched into it that always reminded her of a dragon. "Yeah. One of the first friends I made when I moved down to Georgia died in May. He and his… brother were fighting and he fell. His mom told me what had happened, and right after I was given an assignment so I couldn't really grieve or anything until it was over."

Because as soon as she'd found out what had happened to Loki, Stark had his little showdown with Vanko in Malibu and then she'd been sent out to run interference between Banner and Ross. Everything had been a headache after that, and once it was over Nicole had been given two weeks off to recuperate. And by recuperate she meant get shit-faced drunk, sob through her feelings before pushing everything back in place so that she was fine when she returned to work. Because it wasn't like she could ask for some extra time because her Asgardian friend died. Fury had no idea that she knew Thor or his brother, and she suspected that after what had happened in New Mexico he would not be pleased to discover her involvement.

Steve offered a comforting squeeze at that, his body leaning against hers like a warm wall of support. "Shit… I guess we're both kind of fucked up in that regard."

Those words made her laugh slightly, elbowing him gently in the ribs. "We could start a club, make matching t-shirts. I know some people that would be more than willing to join."

After that admission their conversation returned to lighter topics, and Nicole was in the middle of telling him about the time she'd almost gotten arrested in Guatemala, only to avoid the police force by pretending that she couldn't speak Spanish, or English when her jaw cracked open in a huge yawn. And as contagious as yawns were, Steve let loose one of his own until they were both sitting there with their mouths open trying to do the perfect impression of a whale.

And that was when Nicole decided it was time to go to bed.

"Alright, I'm calling it in for the night; I can barely keep my eyes open and you look ready to drop." Steve blinked sleepily at those words, turning his attention to her clock and the bright red letters across the display.

"Wow." He dipped his head sheepishly, "I had no idea it was so late. I'm sorry for keeping you up."

She swatted lightly at his arm as he got up, a tired smile on her face. "It's absolutely no problem. That's what friends are for and all that jazz. But, before I forget to tell you, I got an email back from Dr. Pisani about the Smithsonian Exhibit. He said that we just need a date and he'll clear his schedule for us. And I got a call from the Triskelion; they were able to recover some more of your things."

"Uh… I guess the sooner we take care of that the better. When are we heading down to your parents?" He speared his hand through his hair again, pushing the strands out of his face as his eyes focused on her face.

"Their anniversary is the twenty eighth, which is a Wednesday but they're having the dinner the Saturday before hand so that there are less work conflicts. I believe that I put in leave for the sixteenth, and then we should be coming back on the following Monday. Any time before the sixteenth or after the twenty sixth we should be good." She answered, double checking the dates in her mind.

"Okay… would this upcoming Tuesday work? I imagine there will be less people there during the weekdays than on a weekend." The purple haired woman nodded vigorously at that, scribbling the date down on a sticky pad next to her bed.

"Tuesday, got it. I'll call those people back." A thought occurred to her then, and she rolled back over to face Steve. "Okay, last question and then you can go. Do you wanna get a hotel while we're up there and stay the night? That way we don't lose eight hours of the day in a car ride, maybe see the sights?"

"Would that be alright? I don't want you to have to spend the money." Because Steve came from a time where they'd had to save every cent of what they made, and frivolous spending probably was a concept that he couldn't wrap his head around.

"Pfft, nah." She scoffed sleepily. "All I have to do is fill out the right paperwork and SHIELD will cover the cost. So long as it somehow relevantly pertains to you—and we don't do anything crazy—we should be fine."

All she would really have to do is justify the trip to Phil—easy as shit—and they'd be good to go.

"I… if you want to." A shy smile curved the corner of his lips. "It would be nice to get the chance to look around."

Nicole gave a very sloppy salute, flopping back into the neatly arrayed pillows and blankets that would most definitely become a mess by morning. "It shall be done."

Steve rapped once on the frame of her door. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Mmm." Came the unintelligible response. She wasn't sure if it had been the conversation, the late hours, or finally just getting the opportunity to vocalize some of the things that had been weighing her down but when Nicole pulled the blankets up to her chin and let her eyes drift shut she fell right to sleep.

_That _hadn't happened in quite a long time.

IOI

Translations:

_Pour l'amour de Dieu, pourquoi est-ce toujours moi? _For the love of God, why is it always me?


	8. Chapter 8

**This chapter is actually getting uploaded earlier. The thing is that I'll try to get a chapter up on Sunday, but if I get them done before that I'll upload them then. Doesn't really make sense to just let it sit on my computer for another couple of days. If I get chapter nine done by Sunday (which I sort of doubt, but who knows) I'll upload it then, but if not… well, enjoy early chapter.**

**What I find kind of amusing though is that this chapter is over 11K words, and is 20 pages, and this story was supposed to have shorter chapters than the others, because it was supposed to basically just be an introduction story.**

**Oh well… I'm not complaining. See the end for an author's note with slight spoilers for this chapter, and a sort of contest? Thing? (I don't actually know)**

**As per usual I own nothing. Thank you all for favoriting/following (over 1K hits aaaaaah) and please, please, PLEASE review. I feed off of feedback. (Pun not intended, but totally awesome)**

**Adara. **

Chapter Eight:

_1941, Location: Brooklyn, NY_

_The night he had gotten accepted into the Army, Steve remembered running home clutching the sheet of paper to his chest. He also remembered leaning against the door of the apartment he shared with Bucky wheezing as his lungs told him exactly how stupid he was for running. _

_And then, sitting on the bed and staring at the slip of paper that basically contained his future, he wondered how in the hell he was going to explain this to Bucky. _

_The answer to that was that he wasn't. Bucky would more than kick his ass if he found out that Steve had finally gotten accepted into the Army. And with his best friend shipping out bright and early first thing tomorrow morning, that wasn't how Steve wanted to say goodbye. Because if—God forbid—something were to happen to Bucky overseas, their last conversation wasn't going to be a fight about __him__._

_Bucky wasn't home, not that Steve even slightly expected him to be, because it was his last night in the city and there were two girls that had wanted to go dancing with Sergeant Barnes and heaven forbid he disappoint two lovely ladies. So instead of waiting, and havening to worry about Bucky seeing through his lie, Steve decided that it would be best if he just tried to get some sleep. Not that he'd be able to get much because every time his eyes drifted to the folded up piece of paper grasped tightly in his clammy hand his heart would start that nervous/excited flutter all over again._

_But at least he could pretend, and then when Bucky did finally climb up that rickety fire escape and jimmy open the window that Steve almost always left just cracked open for his friend, he might actually have drifted off into a restful state. And if not Steve would just make himself as still as humanly possible and hope for the miracle that was Bucky Barnes too tired to notice the difference._

_Steve hid the piece of paper in-between a few blank sheets of his sketchbook, tucking it back into place on his nightstand before getting ready for the night. The sheets were cold from the day; the weather was still rather mild and there was no point wasting money on the heat if it wasn't cold. Steve pulled them up over his boney shoulders, a shiver running down his spine. Whether it was from the temperature or his own tumultuous emotions he couldn't tell, but in all honesty he suspected it was a combination of the two. _

_Furtively his eyes found the sketchbook, knowing that the sheet of paper was protected safely inside. He could imagine it almost perfectly, the 1A stamped clearly in the corner, done by the precise hand of someone who had dedicated their life to the precision and toil of scientific work. Part of him wanted to clutch it into his heart, to keep his eyes on it at all times to make sure that it was __real__ and that it wasn't just some figment conjured up by his desperation._

_But it was real, and he had made it! He just… there was absolutely no way he could tell Bucky. _

_His friend had the decency not to admit it, but Steve knew Bucky didn't actually think he'd make it long in the Army. Between the weak heart, the bad lungs, impaired vision and hearing… hell, there was a whole laundry list of reasons why Steve Rogers shouldn't have made it past six, let alone into the military. And whenever he'd start talking about enlisting, insisting in that bull-headed, stubborn-stupid way of his that he could make it, Bucky would just get this quietly pained look on his face. _

_Almost two decades of taking care of someone created habits that were hard to break. _

_That was why, a couple hours later, when Bucky did end up climbing that rattling fire escape and slid the door open, Steve lay in bed as still as possible. He didn't respond when his friend shook his shoulder gently, pretended to be asleep as Bucky told him in drunken snippets about his night, even though his hearing was as honed as it had ever been and his senses were on red alert. _

_Because he and Bucky had gotten really good at dancing around each other. And sometimes a lie was better than the truth._

IOI

_September 06, 2011, Location: 19th Street, Brooklyn NY_

Two things woke Steve up that night, both moving slightly in tandem. One was Chauncey pawing and barking anxiously at his door, which was odd because typically the dog slept with his owner in her bed. But as the dog's insistent barks drew him out of his sleep Steve became aware of another sound, one that created greater cause for alarm.

The smoke detector was going off.

Steve sat up quickly in bed, shoving the covers off and jerking to his feet. The closer he got to the door, the stronger the smell of smoke was and Steve pressed the back of his hand hesitantly against the panel of the door. It was cool—relatively—prompting him to grab the door handle and jerk it open. The apartment itself was swathed in darkness, unsurprising at this late hour, except for the smoke trickling thickly out from beneath Nicole's door. The hall glowed in orange light that spilled out from the crack and this time when Steve tested the wood it was hot to the touch.

Chauncey whined nervously, running back and forth from Nicole's door to the entrance of the apartment.

There was a sharp crack of someone beating at the door of the apartment just moments before it flew open. A man came rushing in, wavy reddish-brown hair looking barely combed through as he zeroed in on where Steve was standing. "Captain Rogers, what's the situation? I heard the alarm going off on my way out."

The first thing that Steve wanted to know was what kind of person was on their way out at three in the morning?

"The fire's in Nicole's room, the handle is too hot to touch." Which was the precursor to the red haired agent slamming his booted foot so hard into the door that it splintered the hinges.

The wall of smoke that came after had the blonde shielding his face, peering into the room. The fire spread from the bed to the desk and window, singing the drapes and leaving soot trails to blacken the walls.

Steve rushed in fearing the worst, prepared to grab Nicole and carry her out of the room into the fresh air before she burned or suffocated. Except… the fire had almost completely engulfed the bed and it was—Nicole was swathed in flames and none of it was burning her!

Her sleeping face looked heartbroken, terrified, but unharmed.

"Nicole!" Steve had no idea what was going on, no idea how or why it looked like the fire was coming _out of her body_, or how she was still asleep, but he would figure it out later when their apartment wasn't in danger of burning down.

"Move Cap!" The man came shoving past, a pot full of water in his hands. Steve watched in surprise as the agent tossed the water on his friend, the effect instantaneous.

There was a hiss of steam as the liquid almost instantly evaporated, followed by a startled shriek of pain and surprise as Nicole sat bolt up in bed. Her eyes sprang open with a flash, wild and unaware and zipping back and forth like lightning, before they suddenly widened in horror.

"_Putain_!" As soon as the word was out of her mouth the fire all just… disappeared.

The red haired—_red hair?_—woman was left dripping wet and panting in her bed as she stared at her knees, completely unresponsive to the two men in her room. Steve wanted to check on his friend, to demand an answer to what in the actual hell that was, but the presence of a complete stranger had him guarded. So instead the blonde positioned himself so that he was partially blocking Nicole from view as he regarded the man. "Thanks for that, I guess."

The man shrugged, pot hanging limply in his fingers. "I'm agent Cameron Klein, I live just down the hall. I heard the ruckus, and responded. Coulson's already been called and he's sending a vehicle to take Dugan down to the bank for a medical examination and debriefing."

Klein looked between Steve's tense posture and where Nicole was still sitting on the ruined bed, her clothes singed and patchy but otherwise whole before easing back towards the door. "I'll just go… deal with the others."

Steve watched the red haired man depart before turning to his friend, worry evident in his eyes. It was impossible; she had physically been on fire and yet she was absolutely fine. Physically at least; if the expression on her face was anything to go by, Nicole was very definitely not okay right now.

He had a lot of questions. What had happened? How had it happened? Why wasn't Nicole hurt? Whether she was going to be alright? And how had her hair gone from short cropped and purple to elbow length and red in less than eight hours?

Questions that would have to wait because her boss wanted them at the Bank for medical examinations and hopefully they would be able to make since of what had happened. First thing was first, he needed to get her out of the remains of her bed before it gave way and she got hurt.

"Come here." He offered softly, hand gently going out to touch her shoulder. Nicole gave a startled jerk at that, eyes lifting up to him and burning orange—another thing to deal with later—before she visibly swallowed and swiped at her cheek. The movement left a trail of soot, interrupting the tears that had started to create tracks down her face. Her entire body was tightly curled up, muscles shaking to the point where Steve wasn't entirely sure she could willingly unbind them and after a half a second of deliberation he knelt down and carefully fitted her arms around her.

Nicole was heavier than he had been expecting, though he suspected it had something to do with her being almost completely dead weight at this point. Still, for someone who had lifted up a motorcycle with three fully grown women on it, her body wasn't too difficult to carry to his room. Chauncey followed behind on his heels, eyes trained on them intensely and ears perked forward. Nicole barely moved as Steve set her down on his bed, not even registering that her dog had jumped up beside her as he went to his dresser and pulled out a pair of sweatpants and an oversized shirt. Steve wasn't sure if any of her clothes had survived—the fire hadn't looked like it'd spread to the dresser yet—but he figured it would be better if she had something whole to wear.

Had the fire department been called?

It was a SHIELD building, Fury had told him that right off the bat, and as far as he was aware there had been no outward indications of damage. The window hadn't shattered though the glass was definitely blackened. And there were no sirens to be heard in the night… was it possible that SHIELD already had this entire situation under wraps? Of all the impossible things he'd seen tonight, Steve was willing to believe it.

He turned back to his friend, still clutching her knees numbly and silently crying. There had been no disguising the tremors that wracked her body as he'd carried her, or the way her lower lip was quivering and this was honestly a side of Nicole that he had never seen before. She was traumatized and terrified, and he'd caught glimpses of it beneath her mask over the past couple of weeks but now the mask was completely shattered.

Not for the first time since waking up in the year 2011, Steve wished that Bucky was here. Because Bucky had always been the one that could make a crying girl smile just by saying the right things while Steve stood there awkwardly. And it was hard to comfort his friend when he had no idea what was wrong, just that whatever it was it was deep and painful and cutting deep inside of her.

"Nicole?" His use of her name was gentle, curious as he sat down on the edge of the bed beside her, and it seemed to reach her on some level because she was looking at him again and her eyes were kind of focused on his face.

"Agent Klein said a car is on its way to take us down to the Bank." He informed her, still using the same soothing tone. "Do you want to change before they get here?"

Nicole looked from the clothes in his hands and back to his face, breath leaving her lips in a haggard gasp. She seemed to be pulling herself together, the expression on her face tightening and hardening as her body slowly relaxed. "Yeah. Uh… thanks."

Her movements were slow and jerky, legs moving as though they were rusted and old as she pushed onto her feet and took the clothes from his hands. She paused then, indecisive and unsure before turning towards the bathroom. Waiting long enough to give her dog a reassuring pat on the head Nicole disappeared behind the closed door of the bathroom. He heard her moving around inside as he sank into the spot that had just been vacated, reaching out tiredly to pet Chauncey. He whined softly, head dropping onto Steve's leg with a groan.

Steve was… well, exhausted was putting it kindly. His entire body was high strung and tense, his mind processing everything a mile a minute and yet he wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and sleep. Not that he'd be able to with the acrid stench of smoke still clinging to the apartment, or the unanswered questions ricocheting back and forth in his brain. So sleep would have to wait.

Instead he found himself moving back into the wreckage that was Nicole's room. Looking past the smoke and heat damage that painted menacing pictures on her walls and ceiling, he was able to start taking inventory on everything that had been lost. Her bed was completely gone, all fabric burned away so that all that remained was the metal frame and the blackened springs. The nightstand next to it was in little better condition, a fragment of a picture and the hollowed out shell of her alarm clock almost perfectly in place.

The only other piece of furniture that really was affected was her desk; the books stacked messily and crumbling into ash, as well as all of the papers she'd shoved out of her way. There were ceramic and glass bowls cracked and shattered from the heat, pens melted to the surface and her computer… the plastic case and screen had started bubbling and blistering to the point where Steve highly doubted that there was any way to salvage it. Other than that, however, her closet was relatively unscathed, as was her dresser.

"Fuck." Steve looked over his shoulder at that word, muttered in disappointment as Nicole came up behind him. Her eyes seemed far too old for her face, scanning the corners of her room with a bone deep weariness.

The woman looked small in his clothes, they seemed to be swallowing her whole, and Steve had never seen his friend look so frail before. And to the blonde that seemed wrong; Nicole was always vibrant, larger than life, even when she was angry or upset. Now she just seemed half her size and for the life of him Steve couldn't figure out how to help, how to make it better.

"It… could have been worse." He offered, the words falling flat from his lips.

Nicole made a small humming noise in the back of her throat, gaze distant and far away as she drifted over to her desk. Steve watched as, with very gentle fingers, she slid open the top desk drawer and rifled around inside. The interior contents seemed to have fared far better than anything else, they were probably salvageable, but Nicole only seemed interested in one thing. Of all the things he could have imagined her taking out of her desk, a smudged bracelet wasn't one of them. It looked to be made out of bronze, inlaid with red stones and teased and twisted with dizzying swirling patterns. It was a lovely piece of craftsmanship and when she slid her hand through the center to secure it on her wrist, the stones seemed to glow briefly.

Steve heard the footsteps long before Agent Klein hesitantly knocked on the door. Both of them turned to look at the man, who was casually gesturing to the doorway as though nothing was out of the ordinary. "Car's waiting downstairs to take you to the Bank."

Nicole nodded, brushing past both of them and operating completely on autopilot as she grabbed her coat and pulled it on. Chauncey followed behind dutifully, aware of the somber mood to the point where he didn't try and take advantage of the fact that he wasn't being leashed. Steve watched her go, every muscle in his body tensed to follow but… there were questions that he needed answers to first.

"Look, Agent, thanks for that." He shrugged, thinking back to the way that Klein had seemed to know exactly what to do.

Klein shook his head, fingers making an attempt to smooth his hair back. "No problem, Cap. It's been quite some time since we've had an incident like this with Dugan."

"This has happened before?" Steve asked anxiously, pinning the man with an intent look.

Klein shifted under his regard, looking distinctly uncomfortable. "It has yeah. Not very often, she's usually got a pretty tight cap on her abilities but—look, with all due respect, this isn't my tale to tell and I do have to get going. You want any more information you're going to have to take it up with Coulson, or Nicole herself."

The man shifted for the door, not even slightly surprised when Steve followed. "SHIELD will have a team out first thing in the morning to start cleaning up the damage done here. Dugan will probably end up staying at the Bank under observation until she gets the all clear. The car's still waiting if you want to ride over with her. I'm sure Coulson will want to debrief you as well."

The soldier took over in him and he nodded briskly, pulling on his own coat and a pair of boots. By the time that Steve made it down to the car waiting outside of the building, Nicole was half way through a cigarette with Chauncey on her lap. The redhead was looking out the window with an unseeing expression that he easily recognized. Her body may be in the present, but her brain had checked out a while ago. If it had ever really checked in after the nightmare she'd been having.

She didn't respond when he sat down beside her, flicking the ashes off of the glowing end of her cigarette. The man in the front seat, sandy haired and dressed in a tactical suit, pulled out onto the street proper as soon as the door was shut, his eyes locked straight forward and his face completely serious. Steve hadn't seen him around before, either in the apartment building or at the Bank, and yet the man gave the impression that he had been through a lot.

"You know," The driver drawled absently into the silent car. "Smoking is bad for you, Dugan."

"Fuck off, Barton." The woman replied easily, though she did flick the butt out the window. Smoking had always been the societal norm to Steve; even if he didn't do it for health reasons, just about everyone else did. Even Bucky would typically be found out on the fire escape enjoying a smoke more often than not. Of course he'd done it outside out of consideration for Steve's lungs, but there was never any real escape from the thick clouds that hung in just about every bar and building.

It had seemed to have fallen out of popularity since then, but this was the first time that—other than a few commercials on the television—Steve had ever actually heard that it was _bad_.

Every time Nicole had lit one of her cigarettes, Steve had just shrugged it off assuming it was still common. Evidently, according to Barton, such was no longer the case.

He pondered that briefly, in the way that outside stimuli can become an almost absurd distraction in the face of a crisis, as they drove in silence. Periodically Nicole would clench her hands into fists, or clasp them together tightly, but she never made a noise. She had managed to scrub the soot off of her face, but her eyes were still darkly bruised and red rimmed.

The Bank was remarkably quiet when they pulled up, not to the parking area or the front but rather the back door, and for some reason Steve had expected there to be a team waiting outside to do… something. Anything. He wasn't sure, but to him it seemed like more of a response was needed when a woman had physically been on fire without being burned.

But for the few people that actually were still in the facility that late at night however, it was business as usual. Barton didn't even bother getting out, as soon as they'd gotten clear of the vehicle he was on his phone and speeding off again. A few people looked up as they stepped through the back entrance, doing a quick double take here or there, but for the most part they just went about their work.

Nicole ignored them, she ignored everyone as she clutched her dog to her chest and walked along the back wall. Chauncey was much more active than before, ears swiveling and perking as he looked back and forth. A man was waiting for them, the man that Steve could only place as Nicole's supervisor, Coulson.

He was dressed almost pristinely in a suit, not a wrinkle or stray crease to be found. His brown hair was parted in a straight, off center line, and though his face looked like it was almost serene. There was no mistaking the concern in his gaze when he noticed the agent approaching, his hand reaching out to close comfortingly on her shoulder.

"We've got Dr. Maurer waiting downstairs." He offered reassuringly, his voice low as the man drew the woman down the hall.

Nicole nodded numbly, looking up at her SO and biting her lip. "Phil, shit, I'm really sorry. I thought I had it handled, but I was having a nightmare about—"

Coulson cut her off swiftly, the unspoken words peaking Steve's curiosity. He followed a few steps behind the two, absolutely quiet with his hands in the pockets of his coat and listening in very closely.

"I'll expect a full debrief as soon as you get taken care of by Maurer. Dr. Cross wants to talk to you too, she's waiting with him." Coulson looked briefly up at the elevator when it opened, blue eyes narrowing on the few individuals that were standing inside. They quickly left under his scrutiny. "The insurance will easily handle any personal losses as well."

"Thank you." It was a short ride, the silence broken only by a few shuddering gasps from the redheaded woman as they approached the medical floor.

When the elevator doors slid open, the response was more of what he was expecting. Dr. Maurer, with his green eyes and thinning grey hair, hurried over to them. Any uncertainty that the man might have exhibited the first time Steve had met him was long gone now, replaced by an aura of assurance and calm that the blonde wished more doctors had possessed. Quick hands had Chauncey out of his owner's grasp and pressed carefully into Steve's, and then Nicole was whisked away.

"Right this way, dear. It's going to be quite alright, I'm just going to run some standard tests." He offered her, giving an almost play by play of what was about to happen as Nicole was led to a closed off room.

Steve was suddenly left alone with Coulson, the man stealing glances over at him and trying to be very inconspicuous about it. He remembered Nicole mentioning that Coulson was a huge fan of his, and even though the agent was outwardly acting incredibly professional, Steve could practically feel the excitement threatening to burst free.

"So…" Steve began, making a preemptive attempt to steer the conversation to the events of the night.

"Hm?" Coulson cleared his throat, eyes widening slightly before he quickly schooled his features. "Ah, right. If I could get your account of what happened? I am aware that Agent Klein was the first to respond on the scene."

They ended up moving somewhere more private, an empty office that Steve suspected belonged to Maurer as he began a succinct summary of what happened. He started with being woken up by Chauncey—who was sniffing everything and anything he could reach since being set down—to Klein bursting in and kicking open the door.

"Now, look. I know that the smoke was pretty thick and everything but I know what I saw sir." His brows furrowed into a sharp v. "Nicole was _on fire_. Her bed is little more than the frame and the springs, but she's absolutely fine. Never mind the fact that as soon as she woke up it all disappeared, or the fact that her eyes were _orange_ and her hair is now longer and a completely different color."

"What is going on?" Steve pinned Coulson with an intense glare, falling almost completely into his Captain America persona. It fit comfortably, like an old jacket, and it had been a long time since he'd used that tone of voice.

For his part, Coulson only looked mildly impressed and not at all intimidated. He took the time to flip off his audial recorder, tucking it into his pocket before looking back up at him. "What has Nicole told you about her reasons for joining SHIELD, Captain?"

His frown turned even sourer at that, expression even more foreboding. "I don't see what that has to do with anything."

Coulson had an infinitely patient look on his face, leaning back against the desk with a stack of files in his hands. "Humor me, Sir."

"Well," Steve sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "She said it was because of her grandfather, following in Dum Dum's footsteps."

A fleeting smile passed over Coulson's face at that answer, and his blue eyes shone with barely masked amusement. "That is part of it yes. When she was six years old, Nicole was involved in an… incident at her elementary school. There was a fire at her school, it started in the boiler room where she was hiding, and Nicole walked out from the flames almost completely unscathed."

His eyes widened in surprise at that, attention fully on the agent.

"We're still not entirely sure what happened, or how, but after that… well, Nicole developed certain abilities. Mutations in her genetic makeup that affect her cellular structure. Made the cells fireproof. I've seen something similar to it in one other case, but not nearly to the strength of Nicole. She's completely fire-proof and heat resistant, generally stronger and hardier than most humans." Which explained why she had been able to hold her own when they fought and he had stopped holding back.

Coulson stood up. "But what's really phenomenal is the fact that she can physically manipulate fire. Conjure it, control it, with her mind and sometimes subconsciously. We haven't figured out how, or why yet, but when she uses her abilities it changes her eyes to the orange you described. SHIELD became interested, and while we wanted to recruit her into Science and Technology—she's more than capable as a biochemist—she decided to go into Ops to follow in Dum Dum's legacy."

Steve was speechless. His first instinct was to call Coulson a liar, because what he was describing sounded downright impossible. But then so were most of the things he'd seen tonight.

So was the idea of a rail thin, asthmatic kid who was colorblind, partially deaf and sporting a laundry list of other medical issues from the 1930's being a super soldier living seventy years later.

He found himself much more accepting of the impossible since meeting Abraham Erskine.

"So, that's why tonight happened the way it did?" He asked the man instead, arms crossed over his chest as his eyes absently landed on the dog that was leaning against his leg.

Before Coulson could get the opportunity to answer, his phone rang. The tone was a few chirps, strictly professional, and the man pressed a finger to the device in his ear. "Coulson, go ahead."

"She's in a stable condition, shaken up but otherwise fine. Laura is finishing up with her if you want to come on in." Steve heard Dr. Maurer's voice as though the man was with them in the room. Not that he was supposed to over hear the conversation, but it was a little hard not to with the improvements that had been made to his body.

"Thanks, Liam." Coulson nodded. "We're on our way."

As he disconnected the call, Steve found himself on the receiving end of those sharp blue eyes. "I can only tell you the science of what happened Captain. If you want the reason why, you'll have to ask her yourself."

Coulson gestured towards the door, allowing Steve to exit first as he followed behind. They retraced their steps to the room Nicole had been led to. As soon as he realized where they were heading, Chauncey slipped past the two men by dodging between their legs. Coulson looked down and grimaced at the orange hairs that now stood out against the crisp black of his suit, looking like he would prefer nothing more than to pick each one off with tweezers. Chauncey ran through the cracked door, launching himself right onto the tall bed.

It was surprising; for a creature with such short legs, he sure could jump high.

They paused just outside the door; from their vantage point Steve could see Nicole sitting up in the bed, legs crossed and her hands resting meditatively on her knees. Dr. Cross was sitting in the chair beside her bed, one arm braced soothingly against the woman's shoulder and the other resting just in front of her lap. They appeared deep in conversation as Nicole absently dragged her fingers through her dog's fur but her expression seemed more focused.

He couldn't hear what they were talking about, but after a few more seconds Nicole cracked a thin smile and shook her head. Dr. Cross laughed softly then, reaching out to pet the dog who was absolutely soaking up the attention before pushing to her feet.

"I'll see you on Thursday." The psychologist assured the redhead, turning to the door. She paused just outside the door where they were waiting, drawing her hand down her face.

"So?" Coulson prompted, earning a tired smile from the doctor.

"She feels bad about what happened—unsurprisingly—and it was definitely a flashback to the incident at her elementary school. We're doing a follow-up meeting on Thursday, but I think she's going to be alright." Dr. Cross adjusted her glasses, smiling at Steve. "Captain Rogers."

He nodded at her politely. "Doc."

Coulson cleared his throat once more, drawing their attention back to him. "I'll need your full report by five tomorrow."

Steve watched as the woman gave a thumbs up, already pushing the door open all the way and heading inside as she left. He was surprised to find Nicole watching them both, a distinctly unimpressed look on her face as they both walked in. "You know I could hear you perfectly, right?"

"Do you want to run me through what happened?" The recorder was out once more, pointed to the woman who took a deep breath. Her report was much more in-depth than his, no doubt because she had more insight as to the how's and whys. Steve tried not to listen when Nicole began describing her dream, he tried not to hear the way her voice shook, but it was impossible to tune it out.

Agent Coulson listened silently, asking a few questions when he needed further elaboration but for the most part they went through her debriefing in a quick, efficient manner. She had done this before, and it showed in the methodical way that the words came out of her mouth. Nicole was disassociating herself from what the events; he recognized the tactic because he'd used it before.

"Alright," Coulson sighed, flipping off the device. "I have everything I need. There's an open bunk waiting for you, and I'll have a crew out first thing in the morning. You still planning to go to DC?"

"We don't have to, if you're not up to it." Steve interjected hurriedly, looking at his friend. Nicole lifted her shoulders in a shrug, rubbing Chauncey's belly.

"Might as well; the hotel is already booked and paid for, and we have the appointment. It's not like we have a reason not to." She answered honestly.

Coulson clicked his tongue at her answer, checking something in his file. "Alright. I'll get this report typed up and ready for Fury tomorrow. Just get some rest, Nicole."

"Phil," He stopped at the doorway, "I'm sorry for making you get up at this ungodly hour. I know I fucked up."

The older man gave her a warm smile, and it would be impossible for Steve to miss the way those blue eyes flicked up to him. "It's not a problem. Just get some rest."

With that it was just the two of them—three if the dog was included—and Steve looked over at his friend. "So… do you want to talk about what happened, or do you just want to head to bed?"

"I kind of just want to head to bed," Nicole sighed, rubbing at her eyes. "But you deserve to know what happened. What did Phil tell you?"

"Just the basics; there was an accident at your school and that was how they discovered you had some sort of special cells that kept you from getting burned. That it allows you to control fire?" He eased himself into the chair that had just recently been vacated by Dr. Cross, resting his hands on the arms. Steve did his hardest to try and appear as small and unimposing as he used to be able to, folding himself up in the chair and watching her carefully.

Nicole snorted bitterly at that, her eyes troubled as she focused entirely on her pet. "Kids can be cruel, Steve. Very cruel. I didn't have a dad when I was that age, and you'd think that it wouldn't be that big of a deal but… when you're different, it wasn't good. Suffice it to say, I was pretty heavily bullied and I tried to stand up for myself."

Her words were laced with something dark, something pained, and something so personal that Steve found he had to look away for a moment. "When I was six, well first grade sucked. I was waiting for my grandpa to pick me up, he always picked me up on Fridays, and it was the same three… they chased me down to the boiler room and I just remembered that I was so tired of being hurt, so tired of being scared. I just wanted it to stop. Everything got hot, and it kept getting hotter and the next thing I knew I was being thrown up against the wall after a loud boom."

"People died, Steve." The tears were falling down her cheeks again, and she hastily tried to wipe them away. "A child died and it was _my fault_. The other two, they had burns all over their bodies, they were hospitalized for months because of me. That was how I discovered what I could do; by killing a kid."

His heart tugged painfully in his chest at the pure agony in those words; twenty years of guilt compounded in one single moment. It was something he could relate to, because it was the same sort of guilt he'd been carrying ever since he'd lost Bucky.

"I will never forgive myself for that. Or for the fact that because of me my mother had to quit her job and move across the country. Everyone keeps telling me it was an accident, I know that I had no control over what happened, but it still hurts." She gestured weakly. "Anyway, after that I was sent to the Quarry—down in Georgia—and that's where I learned how to control my abilities. What happened tonight, I haven't done anything like that in over a decade, okay? I had a nightmare about that day though, it's what's been bothering me for these past couple of weeks, and I guess it just got out of control."

"It won't happen again, I promise you that Steve. And I'm so fucking sorry that you had to witness that. You probably think that you got stuck with the mentally unstable one and—"

"Don't." He growled, interrupting her as he stood from his chair. A set of startled brown eyes flew up to his face, the woman's mouth gaping open. "You do not have to apologize for that, and I absolutely do not think any less of you. Nicole, you are my friend and what you went through as a kid was horribly and traumatic."

He settled on the edge of her bed, gripping her hand. "You're allowed to have bad days, and fuck anyone who tells you differently, okay? Granted, the spontaneous combustion is new for me, but after what you went through… I understand. And you've been there for me during this entire experience; like I said, the road goes both ways."

He might not have known what to do before, but moving almost on instinct Steve pulled the redhead into a tight hug. Just like when he'd told her about when he'd met Bucky and she'd practically launched herself at him like a cannon ball of comfort.

Nicole immediately relaxed into the embrace, her arms locking around his back and gripping tightly as she hid her face in his shoulder. "Thanks, blondie."

They stayed like that for a little while, until Nicole pulled back and reached into her pocket to check her phone. It was already pushing daybreak, and they would need to hit the road before too long if they wanted to make it to their appointment on time. "Are you sure you don't want to reschedule?"

She shook her head, pushing onto her feet with bravado as she dragged her hand down her face. "On such short notice? I can't guarantee when we'll get in for another appointment. It's only a four hour drive, let me get a quick nap and a cup of coffee and I'll be fine."

"Alright." He cracked his back and stretched out his cramped muscles. "Let's hit the barracks then."

Nicole let out a huff of air that could barely be considered a laugh, watching him speculatively. "You know, you don't have to sleep in the bunks. I'm sure we could scrounge you up a private room."

The blonde leveled a dry look at his friend, lips pursed slightly and eyebrows raised. "Yeah, no, I'll be fine. I've shared sleeping space plenty of times Nicole, it'll be like old times."

This time she gave him a real laugh, scooping up her dog and heading out of the room. Steve followed her lead, he had no idea where the barracks were at the Bank. As he walked behind her the blonde couldn't help but ponder the events of the night. He was glad that Nicole had opened up to him about what had happened, but more than that she wasn't bottling it up anymore.

One thing that he had learned, from growing up with Bucky but mainly through the war, was that sometimes the lie was good but eventually the truth would need to come out.

IOI

_September 06, 2011, Location: I-95 S towards Washington, DC_

"Are you sure you're up for this?" Nicole questioned for what had to have been the thousandth time since they left the Bank. "I _can _drive."

"So can I." He added patiently, which should have been obvious considering the fact that he had been driving since they'd left almost an hour ago. "Relax. I have directions, and I've gotten more sleep than you."

"But… ugh. Okay, just don't crash." Out of the corner of his eye Steve watched Nicole settle back down into her seat, pushed all the way back before she lifted her feet to put them on the dashboard.

He reached out to swat at them, making his friend hiss in surprise before she dropped her feet. "I'm not going to crash. And keep your feet off of the dash."

"Yes, mother." Nicole grumbled, hiding her face behind the collar of her coat as she yawned.

Steve looked over at her, a slight smile on his face. Nicole was curled up in her seat using her coat as a blanket, arms crossed underneath it and clutched close to her chest. SHIELD had delivered the bags they'd packed for the trip, both undamaged and only mildly smelling of smoke providing both of them a change of clothes after using the facility showers. She was no longer wearing a spare set of his clothes, rather a knit gray sweater and a pair of blue jeans and he had since had the opportunity to change out of his pajamas.

They'd needed an early start to make their noon appointment with Dr. Pisani, meaning that they'd only gotten a few hours of sleep since arriving at SHIELD. _He'd _only gotten a few hours of sleep, because Nicole had been tossing and turning above him when the darkness had finally claimed him and her bed had been neatly made by the time he'd woken up. Which was why Steve was insisting on driving the four hour trip.

Her brown eyes were turned out the window, the dark circles even more prominent in the harsh light and he recognized the look on her face. She was dwelling.

"We actually stole a tank once." He said, letting the words fill the car. The traffic was starting to decongest the farther they got away from the city. "Well, we stole plenty of tanks."

"What?" Her attention was fully on him now, and Nicole had pressed her spine into the corner between the door and the seat.

He shrugged his shoulders slightly, letting one hand hang casually out the window of the SHIELD car that they'd borrowed. "Well yeah. It was… I was liberating the HYDRA camp in Krossberg. Over three hundred men were captured from the 107th to be put to the labor camps."

"I remember Papou telling me about this." The redhead added, bringing a smile to Steve's face.

"Yeah, well, he was one of the ones that actually took the tank. I unlocked the first cage, the one that Dum Dum was in, and handed the keys. I needed to find Bucky." He could still remember the looks of disbelief from the men as he busted them out of their cells, especially when he took out the HYDRA agent holding the keys. "And they practically rioted on their way out; grabbing weapons, getting a little pay back."

He'd been looking for Bucky, and then trying to avoid the Red Skull, too busy to notice what the other men had been doing. Steve had expected them to follow his directions, to make their way into the forest and head away from enemy lines. He hadn't expected that they would steal grenades, or a truck, or a tank, and really he should have because it made perfect sense.

"Anyway, we were getting ready to stop for the night, the HYDRA base was completely destroyed and any of their survivors scattered to the wind, when it was time to set up guard shifts. And Dum Dum just settled himself at the main gun on the thing and looked at us. 'I dare those jerry bastards to try and sneak up on me. I'll have one hell of a surprise waiting for them.' He just hunkered down with a bottle of bourbon and waited." The car was silent as he finished his tale, completely silent, and Steve chanced a look over at the other passenger.

Nicole still had her face turned towards him, her seatbelt unbuckled and her knees drawn close to her chest. Her body was mostly hidden under the drape of her jacket, but her face was completely serene and asleep. A smile curved her lips, as though she had fallen asleep right in the middle of his story, which Steve didn't doubt in a second. She had to be exhausted—he was a little tired himself—and so he didn't begrudge her the rest. Instead he turned the radio on and returned his attention to the road.

Things had changed, so many things had changed, but it was good to know that for all of the sweeping advances in technology, the new references and the huge shift in the way of living, some things remained the same. Such as the traffic flow going in and out of New York; sure the cars were different, but the motions were all the same. And they were all familiar; Bucky usually drove whenever they went on long car rides, but some—such as the trip up to his Uncle's cabin—they would split the difference.

Bucky would get really uneasy whenever Steve took the exit out of the city, mostly because his hearing wasn't the best and _shit, Stevie, there's someone right behind us watch your blind spot!_ After a while the constant bitching would get to be too much and Steve usually let his friend get them out of the heavy traffic. But Steve loved the open road, the silence of it, because it would give him time alone with his thoughts and the scenery.

Mostly because within twenty minutes of driving Bucky would be out like a light and it would be just him and his brain.

So this, this definitely wasn't anything new, and he used the time on the road to catch up on some of the music of the time period. It… it wasn't all bad, but he noticed that the music was heavily repeated and catchy. Still, after about half an hour he turned the radio off and just let his mind wander.

His thoughts turned to the events of last night. Coulson had found someone to keep an eye on Chauncey—Steve wasn't sure but he thought that the agent had left the dog with Barton—for the two days that they would be gone, and true to his word workers were already repairing their apartment. And Nicole could control fire. Had he not seen it with his own eyes, he wouldn't believe it, but the proof was irrefutable. Right before they'd left, she'd shown him. She had conjured a small ball of flame no bigger than a golf ball and passed it back and forth between her hands.

She could control fire without being burned and not even SHIELD could really explain why. Only that her cells had some sort of special mutations to keep her from burning. His first thought had been that they'd tried some sort of experimentation on her, something in an attempt to recreate the serum in his body, but both Nicole and Coulson had assured him that such was not the case. That her grandfather would have raised hell if somebody had tried experimenting on her at that age.

So it remained an unexplained phenomena, studied every time there was an anomaly—like last night—with the hopes of shedding some light on it.

What they did know was that she could control it and she typically kept a very tight lid on her abilities.

To Steve, that was enough; he trusted Nicole and God knew she felt guilty about what had happened.

"Flurghaburbur." Her lips curved into a slight frown as her positon shifted, long legs unfolding from their bent up position to sprawl out in front of her. He felt a trickle of unease as she tensed, but it passed when her body moved into a more comfortable spot and she relaxed again.

Steve trusted her, yeah, but that didn't mean he completely ignored how dangerous she could be.

Nicole was simply catching up on some sorely needed rest, and he didn't disturb her until they pulled up to the parking garage. Nicole jerked awake as soon as the car slowed to a stop and the teller asked for their money. Steve was in the process of pulling out his wallet when the redhead reached across his chest to hand over a black credit card, still rubbing her eyes.

"I can cover it." He protested weakly, once the woman had disappeared to run their payment.

Nicole shook her head sleepily, frowning in slight confusion. "It's a work expense, goes on the work card. Are we already there? I can't believe I slept the entire way. What time is it?"

"It's eleven twenty, and yeah we're there." Steve wisely refused to mention the fact she had needed the nap.

"Here's your parking permit, just put that on your mirror, and here's a map of the surrounding monuments. Have a great trip!" The parking attendant offered cheerfully, passing back the credit card as well as a blue piece of plastic with the number 1056 written across the front and a pamphlet with a map as well.

Nicole tucked her card back into her wallet, smiling brightly as she snatched the map from his hands as well. "Thank you!"

"We should check out the Smithsonian Zoological Park." She mentioned as Steve began the arduous search of finding an available parking space. "They have pandas and lions."

"Yeah?" He questioned absently, eyes scanning the rows of cars.

"There's a spot up there on the left." Nicole pointed to an area between a green minivan and a red pickup, not looking up from the map. "And yes."

They took a few moments of stretching from the long ride as Nicole pulled her coat back on and buttoned it up. As she did so, Steve watched her pull out her phone and check it with a focused look before her gaze snapped back up to him. "Okay, so Pisani's office is at the Museum of American History; not far, we're just gonna run over to 7th street and follow it up to Constitution Avenue. Short walk, we've got plenty of time."

"You really plan out everything, don't you?" Steve joked, earning a half-hearted shove from the woman. "Let's get moving."

"It's in my job description, Blondie." They hurried down the flight of stairs and out the main exit. It was a little crisp for early September, but there were still plenty of people out and about; mostly tourists with flashing cameras or their noses shoved into their own maps.

"So what should I know about Dr. Pisani?" Steve asked as they maneuvered around a group of school children, over half of which looked far too bored with whatever their guides were telling them.

Nicole scoffed at that, running her hand through her hair and shoving the strands out of her face with a distasteful expression. "Well, I've met him a few times and he's always been an ass to me. Granted, that was because I tried—on multiple occasions—to tell him that the exhibit he spent most of his life putting together was wrong. Actually, I had to get Dr. Hartmann to make the appointment with him; his office refused to deal with me."

"So, you know, expect more than a little bit of condescension on both of our parts during the meeting." Her expression turned thoughtful then, lips pursing. "Other than that, I'm sure he's a very nice man. And he's put a lot of effort into the Captain America exhibit."

"An exhibit that is apparently way off." The blonde noted sourly.

Nicole lifted her shoulders in a 'what-can-you-do' gesture, swooping down to pick up a discarded bottle and toss it into the nearest recycling bin. "It was more a matter of available information. The government needed Captain America to be a symbol not only to the American people but to the world. Would you want people knowing that the man they idolize as their only successful super soldier started out as a little shit head who had more arrest records than he had common sense?"

"Hey, I had plenty of common sense!" Steve growled playfully, nudging his friend. "And all of those arrests were completely justified."

"Uh-huh." Nicole laughed, eyes drawn up to the passing busses. "But you get my point, yeah? Some people still think that you were just used as a propaganda device, an attempt to sell more bonds."

Steve thought about that, about the comics and movies they'd had him make, the performances he'd had to do as Senator Brandt's dancing monkey. After he'd actually put together the Howling Commandoes though, the film crews had been following him around and at least they were showing real footage. Still, he could see how people would think that he was just propaganda; most days he couldn't even imagine that everything Dr. Erskine's formula had done to him was real.

"Now, as for your meeting." Nicole's words brought him back to the present as they began ascending the steps of the museum. "I can sit with you or I can wait outside, whatever's easier for you. Take as long as you need, or as long as you can, and if we need to spend more time in the capitol it'll be easy for me to extend our hotel stay."

The Smithsonian was full of people, even for a Tuesday, and Steve instinctively pulled his ball cap further down his face. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Nicole tense as a huge group of people came shoving past, her eyes sharp and uneasy. "Will you be okay with staying longer?"

The question was utterly sincere, and he didn't want anything to happen that would end up causing his friend any more grief. She smiled thinly at him, heading up to the main information desk. "I'll be fine blondie. Been in much worse situations."

They waited in turn at the information desk, moving through the lines until they were standing on the opposite side of the desk and looking at a young man with a rather prominent nose.

"Welcome to the Smithsonian Museum of American History." The man's voice was cracked and monotonous, no doubt it had already been a very long day for him. "How can I help you?"

"Hi! We're with SHIELD and we have a noon appointment with Dr. Pisani but we're not entirely sure where to go." What amazed Steve about the woman beside him was how absolutely casual she could be even when she was horribly uncomfortable. And there was something infectious about her friendly attitude because he saw the attendant turn more to her, a small smile on his face. "Do you think you could help us? Or give him a call?"

"Uh, sure. I'll see if he's in right now." The young man lifted his phone, peering at them curiously as it rang. "Hi, this is Information. I have a couple people that say they're from SHIELD? According to them they have a 12:00 with Dr. Pisani?"

Nicole gave Steve a thumbs up, nails clicking a steady 4-beat pattern along the lacquered desk as they waited, her eyes trailing after a couple of kids.

"Alright, thanks Connie, I'll let them know." The man turned back to face them, letting out a breath of air. "Okay, if you two are fine with waiting here Connie—Dr. Pisani's intern—is on her way down to come get you."

"No problem," Steve nodded. "Thanks."

They moved to the side so that the next person in line could come, Steve arching an eyebrow as he watched a mother tugging her son out of an exhibit gently. There was nothing particularly odd about the scene, save for the fact that there was no mistaking the fact that the little boy was sporting a brand new backpack that was designed to look like his shield.

"Yeeeeah, I might have failed to mention the fact that there's Captain America souvenirs in the gift shops." Nicole followed his gaze with a sheepish expression on her face. "And I may have received a few of them as gifts over the years. Anyway, when Ms. Jenko comes to get us just hang back and let me do the talking. She's been with Dr. Pisani for a few years now, she'll probably recognize your face instantly if she gets a good look at it."

"Alright." On instinct Steve pulled his cap down just a little farther even though he didn't need to, a sly smile curling his lips. "But souvenirs, Dugan? What were they?"

"Shut up pretty boy." The redhead growled defensively, though there was no real heat in her words. "I was a kid."

Steve quickly lifted his hands in surrender. "No, I mean I find it somewhat flattering. But tell me; better or worse than Coulson?"

"Oh!" She gasped in surprise, a challenge rising in her eyes. "That's it. As soon as there are no witnesses I am so going to kill you!"

"I'd be concerned," He drawled, taking a subtle step back, "but we both know you're too big of a fan."

She leveled an unamused glare at him, lips pursed and eyebrows furrowed slightly but the glitter of mirth in her eyes counteracted any severity in the expression. "I hate you."

"Mhm. The paraphernalia says differently." Steve couldn't help but laugh at the undignified squawk, clutching at his stomach while she gestured impotently at him.

"_Ahem_." A voice deadpanned, belonging to a waif of a woman carrying a clip board with her shiny black hair pulled into a sharp ponytail and glasses perched on the tip of her nose. Steve swung his attention to her, but her hazel eyes were locked on Nicole in an expression of distaste. "Agent Dugan."

"Connie." Whereas the intern looked cold and aloof, Nicole was filled to overflowing with warmth that Steve knew was added unnecessarily. Judging by the redhead's face, Nicole felt the same way towards Connie that the thin girl felt towards her. "So glad of you to come collect us."

Connie looked down at her clipboard, scribbling something down. "This had better be good. Dr. Pisani has too much on his plate as it is, he doesn't need to deal with you. _Again_."

Nicole's smile turned downright predatory at that, glee making her eyes seem just a little brighter. "Believe me sweetheart, he's gonna love me after this."

The woman made a disbelieving click of her tongue, gesturing for them to follow as she led them away from the main area of the museum to a small stairwell. Steve followed quietly behind, more than aware of the fact that the small woman kept trying to steal looks at him from the corner of her eyes. Steve cut a questioning look at Nicole, who rubbed at her chin and looked down.

"Okay, so," She began very quietly, nervously looking over at Connie. "You remember how I told you they weren't really that fond of me?"

The black haired woman's spine stiffened at that, though she didn't comment. "Well, the last time I tried to speak with Dr. Pisani—a couple of years ago—things devolved into a shouting match and I said some things I probably shouldn't have."

"What your colleague _means_ is that she insulted the doctor's heritage, gender, as well as how he went about earning his degree." Connie amended severely, the disapproval plain.

Steve let out a low whistle, looking at his friend. "Dang."

"Okay, yeah, _but_." Nicole held up her hands in surrender, holding open the door for him to go through. "In my defense I—okay, no, I was just being very childish."

"Very childish doesn't even begin to cover it, Agent Dugan. How someone of your personality managed to become employed—let alone stay with—a government organization is beyond my comprehension." Connie added snidely, making Steve press his lips together in a hard line.

Yeah, she may have been immature—she still was immature, sticking her tongue out at the woman's turned back—but Nicole was only trying to defend him. Steve wasn't sure if he should feel impressed or disappointed, but suddenly they were at a wooden door with a frosted glass window and the name _Dr. Daniel Pisani, PhD_ scrawled right in the middle with gold embossed black letters. Connie rapped her knuckles lightly against the door frame before poking her head in.

"Sir, SHIELD is here." They couldn't hear the answer to that, but what the woman said next gave him a feel for the response. "Yes, sir, it's _her_."

Connie turned back to face them, her hand still on the doorknob. "He's ready for you. I should hope you'll remember your professional decorum this time."

Nicole saluted with a smirk, holding her hands up in a peace keeping gesture as she stepped into the office. Steve turned to face the young woman, looking her directly in the eye to nod his thanks as he followed his friend. He watched her eyes widen in recognition, her mouth dropping open to form an 'o' of surprise, but before she could say anything the door was shut between them.

The man that could only be Dr. Pisani sat at his desk, fingers folded neatly on top of a cleared space in the otherwise cluttered area. There were books stacked on the shelves to the point of overflowing, papers burying the rest of the space and various objects tucked around. Steve's eyes were drawn to a display of different minerals, beside which sat a fossil of what looked like… it was a trilobite, he was almost certain he recognized the three lobed creature from when he was in school.

Judging from Nicole's description of the man, Steve had been expecting Dr. Pisani to be a severe man, with a beak nose and sharp features, beady eyes and a habit of rubbing his hands together not unlike a shifty scientist from those old films. The man watching them couldn't be any farther from that; he had to be only 5'4 to 5'5 with a head of well combed white hair and round, warm facial features. He was wearing a bright blue button-down dress shirt, with black slacks, red suspenders and a tie with a design of dinosaur bones on them. All in all, he was absolutely nothing like what Steve had expected.

There was no mistaking the dark look his gray eyes leveled on Nicole as she stepped into his office.

"Agent Dugan." His voice was light and almost raspy, it sounded like he actually laughed a lot. "What a… surprise. I was told I was being sent an _expert_ on Captain America, not an amateur."

Only a deaf monkey would be able to miss the condescension and hostility in those words, and his first instinct was to immediately jump to his friend's defense. Just like whenever Bucky would talk himself into some shit—or vice versa—and Steve would end up getting his ass kicked trying to defend his best friend. It didn't matter if Bucky was right or wrong; Steve had his back either way.

But when they were alone, then he could lay into Buck about how many different kinds of stupid he'd been. Granted, in that instance it was more often Bucky jumping to _his _defense than the other way around.

Still, Steve remembered when Nicole had explained that it was as much her own fault as it was the doctors so he remained silent. He was more than willing to let her hash out the details of their meeting while he tried to get his bearings. They were going to go look at the exhibit, to see how the rest of the world had perceived the life of Steve Rogers and Captain America, and that would take some mental preparation.

He'd been contemplating that fact on the drive to DC, as well as the night before and he still wasn't sure if he was ready.

"Relax, d7oc, I did bring you an expert. And believe me when I say you'll be thankful I did." Nicole was practically bouncing on her heels, the excitement evident.

"Your friend, I presume?" Dr. Pisani emerged from behind his desk, approaching Steve who still had his face mostly hidden. "Hello, I'm Daniel Pisani. You're SHIELD's expert on Captain America?"

"I am sir." He extended his hand, using the other to reach up and tug his cap off of his head. "Captain Steve Rogers."

Pisani reached out to shake his hand as he spoke, eyes widening and sputtering at the name. The shorter man—and Steve had been right in his height estimate—looked up in disbelief. But as Pisani looked at him, Steve saw the recognition. There would be no way that a man who had spent most of his life studying Captain America wouldn't recognize him.

"I… this is impossible!" The man hissed, tones rising in near panic.

Nicole had a horribly smug expression on her face. "Not impossible, doc. Just highly unlikely."

IOI

**A/N: Okay, so as you can see we have the bones of Nicole's origin story established through flashbacks and exposition. As I'm sure some of you have already suspected by now, she's going to join the Avenger's Initiative. Which means that I need a superhero name for her.**

**And that's where you guys come in!**

**So far, I've only really got Blaze and Hellfire as suggestions (and they're great suggestions) but if you guys have any ideas let me know in the reviews or PM's. I'll pick the one I think fits her best.**

**So, we need criteria yeah? Obviously something based on her powers of fire (including, but not limited to, heat resistance, fire manipulation and the ability to fly a-la-Ironman) or something based on her Asgardian background—which will be explained fully… someday—and a bird motif. I have the costume design in the process and as soon as it gets done, I'll upload it to my tumblr. **

**Guys, give me some suggestions because I am in hardcore need of some help with this.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Not really a whole lot to say about this one, it's a shorter filler. Just a little bit more character exposition and some terrible jokes, which are the best kind of jokes. Things will actually pick up into a more action-y feel in the next chapter, though that's not the main basis of this story (like I said, it's basically a bromance fic and my first experience at not actually writing romance). **

**I'm still taking superhero name suggestions, and I've already gotten some to consider but I hope you guys chime in with your own ideas. **

**Other than that, though, I hope you're still enjoying the story and the liberties I'm taking with it. As always, keep following/favoriting and I would love some reviews. Please?**

**Adara.**

Chapter Nine:

_July 04, 1990, Location: Chesapeake Beach, MD_

"_Papou!" At only five years old, Nicole Dugan was growing like a weed to the point where it was painfully obvious that before too long she would shoot right over her mother's head. Not that it stopped the huge man that was Timothy Dugan from scooping up the gangly child and swinging her around in his arms. _

_She was one of his best girls, after all._

"_Hey there string bean, we were wondering when you two would get here! Your nana has already set up the picnic table and scoped out the best spot to watch the fireworks." Not many people would associate Dugan as a family man, but his Meredith had brought him two healthy children and in turn they'd given him a manageable number of grandchildren. _

_Two was just enough to handle, though he would have liked for one of them to have been a boy._

_Dugan wasn't necessarily one to pick favorites among his grandkids—he loved them all equally—but Nicole had been the first one, and she'd had two years to wrap him around her little finger. _

"_Nana always picks the best spots!" Nicole added sagely, looking at her grandfather as though this should be something that he already knew. Dugan chuckled at that, balancing the child on his hip as he reached out to pull his daughter into a hug. Emily returned the embrace loosely, the top of her head barely reaching his chest as she allowed herself to be squeezed close._

"_Hi dad. Are Mark and Ellen here?" The woman asked curiously, eyes drifting over past the area where the table and grill were set up._

_Dugan released his daughter, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. "They're with Kate playing in the water. Peggy and Danny are here too, as well as Howard and Maria." _

"_Did they manage to drag Tony out of his lab long enough to come too?" The redheaded woman inquired lightly, lips drawing back into a slight smile. The boy was twenty and thought he had his life figured out, it would be a miracle if his parents would be able to pull him out of his lab._

"_Oh he's not thrilled about it, but yeah." He snorted, smiling down at his youngest. Her hair was the same shade of red as his, an unexpected change from Mere's dark brown curls, though she had her mother's eyes. _

"_Papou…" Nicole whined, squirming expectantly. "Can I? Please?" _

_He looked down at her, one eyebrow arching until he met those big, brown puppy dog eyes._

_He was a weak man._

"_Just be careful with it." Dugan sighed, setting his granddaughter down as she started bouncing on the balls of her sandaled feet. _

"_I always am!" The child beamed, her face and bare arms smattered with more than a liberal share of freckles. The red haired man lifted one large hand and removed his bowler hat, placing it gently on the girl's hand. "How do I look?"_

"_Like you could have passed as one of the Commandoes." He chuckled, the words worn and familiar. _

_Nicole let out a squeal of delight, gangly legs taking off in a run as she went streaking to where the others were waiting. "Peggy! Look! I've got the hat!"_

_Dugan watched his granddaughter run, her darker hair bound back in a braid that had wisps of curls flaring out around her face. Nicole was his number one fan, showing more interest in all of his stories than any of his kids ever had. She would usually hang on his every word, and curl onto his lap when he started reminiscing about his days in the war. He loved that kid, it was evident in the warmth in his eyes whenever he looked at her. Recently however, worry began to creep into that gaze._

"_How has she been doing?" He asked, arms crossed as he watched Nicole dancing around Peggy happily. "Are the nightmares back?"_

"_Have they ever left?" Emily offered dryly, though her lips were twisted worriedly. "She doesn't remember them though, and she's been warmer than usual. It's like she has a fever, but other than eating like a bottomless pit, she hasn't shown any signs of illness."_

_Nicole didn't know what her momma and Papou were talking about, but she did look up to find them watching her. There was an expression on their faces that she had seen momma wearing before, the expression that she didn't quite know what it meant. But then Howard came over and Peggy promised to tell her about the time that Captain America saved the 107__th__, and she forgot that they were looking at her._

_She forgot that they would have that expression on their faces all through the day, even when the fireworks started exploding over the water._

IOI

_September 09, 2011, Location: The Capital Grille, 601 Pennsylvania Ave NW, Washington DC_

"I would like to very formally make an apology for making you stay here two days longer than planned. I humbly beg your forgiveness." Nicole peered over the top edge of her menu at that, arching a curious eyebrow over at Steve.

"Is this you begging, blondie? Because I expected a little more in the lines of groveling and compliments." She replied haughtily, using the thick menu to hide the smile threatening to overwhelm her features. "Frankly, I feel like you could try a little harder."

"You see, this," He made a sweeping motion in his direction, "is me trying to have a moment." Nicole folded her menu carefully when he gestured vaguely to her. "And this is you ruining it."

"What can I say?" She drawled, letting the twangs of her southern accent come out in full force as she took a sip of her wine. "It's practically my middle name. Honestly, the nurse was quite surprised when she received the birth certificate that read _Nicole Moment-Ruiner Dugan._"

"Hmm…" Steve appeared contemplative for a moment as he reached for his own glass. "It fits. Still, I am sorry. I didn't expect to find so much wrong with that exhibit."

What had started as a brief meeting with Dr. Pisani had turned into a tour of the Captain America exhibit. And that had resulted in Steve listing off all of the numerous things that the museum had gotten wrong about his life. They'd ended up staying a few days more as Steve had set the record straight and offered even more supplemental information. After the first few hours of Nicole's smug smirk, Pisani had politely asked her to leave and not return if she wasn't going to be able to maintain at least some modicum of professional decorum.

Granted, Nicole could be very professional when it mattered, she just had a hard time when it came to the vindication of years of being snubbed and told that both she and her grandfather were wrong. So she had graciously excused herself from the doctor's office, and had spent the rest of the afternoon exploring some of her old haunts around the city. She'd toured the museum of natural history, the zoological park, as well as exploring some of the monuments. All things that she had hoped to tour with Steve as soon as he'd been done. Unfortunately for her, Steve had been inside Pisani's office almost every day for the past three days straight.

Today had been the last day; Steve had exhausted every story he could bear to tell—some of the ones that it physically hurt to recall but he did anyway because those stories _needed_ to be told—and they'd spent what remaining free time they had exploring their nation's capital. Which was how they found themselves at one of the best restaurants in DC, one of her personal favorites once she'd gotten enough pay that she could afford to go somewhere as nice, sharing a bottle of wine and celebrating the end of a trip that was emotionally exhausting for the both of them.

Not only had she been on the phone with the insurance company practically non-stop, but… She'd tried to keep herself from doing it, but Nicole had been drawn to her old elementary school like a moth to the flame—and the irony of that wasn't lost on her. The silhouette was just as she remembered it, though the playground had been renovated. And someone had painted a mural on the huge brick wall, the part of the school that had needed repaired after what she'd done. It was a beautiful piece of artwork, really, a commemoration of the history of the school. The people and events that brought the community together and of course, there in the middle, the memorial of the boy who had died in a horrible accident.

She felt her stomach twist sharply, she thought she was going to be sick as she looked at the faces that were immortalized in her nightmares. Once upon a time she had tried to follow up, to find out what had happened to the two who had survived but… it had been too painful. And it had been her fault; it was best if she just let them live their own lives.

That night both she and Steve had returned to the hotel with haunted expressions on their face. They hadn't shared more than a few words before going to bed.

Tonight, however, they were determined to enjoy their last night in the capital before returning back to New York and the grind of daily life. Both she and Steve had ended up missing a session with Dr. Cross, meaning that next week they would, respectively, have a lot to talk about. Especially since they'd made a trip up to the Triskelion to reclaim more of his things; items that had been in his footlocker and returned from the other Howling Commandoes, as well as several different museums and historians. It had taken some effort to convince those people that the items in question deserved to be returned to their rightful owner, and they had spent some time picking and choosing what Steve absolutely wanted back and what he was content to leave. There had been quite a lot of items that had fallen into the latter category, really, with Steve's insistence on reclaiming only a few very personal items such as some of his sketchbooks and pictures.

"Yeah… I mean, gramps tried telling them that. All of the Commandos told them but nobody ever seemed to want to listen." She smirked, enjoying the way the zesty flavors of the white wine rolled around on her tongue.

Typically she didn't much care for the stuff, but this was a special circumstance and special circumstances deserved special accommodations. As well as the fact that she was planning on an order of the oysters, and the chardonnay went quite well with them.

"But," the redhead grinned, raising her glass in a toast. "We survived! To us!"

"To us." Steve agreed, clinking his glass against hers. "All things considered, it was a fun trip though."

Nicole snapped her menu closed with a flourish, eyebrows wriggling suggestively. "That is because you're with me, and I'm obviously the most fun friend you've ever been to DC with."

"Considering that the last time I was in DC…?" The sentence dwindled to a destination that they were both familiar with. "Yeah, I'll agree."

"Oh, hey, do you want to share an appetizer?" Nicole asked curiously, "Because the oysters are to die for."

Steve contemplated the offer, blue eyes dropping to inspect where they were listed. "This is a little pricey."

Nicole sighed at that; Steve was a child born of the Great Depression, she understood the idea of wanting to save money but they were celebrating.

"Hey," She called, drawing his attention with a smile. "Considering the fact that we've been covering our food for the past couple of days on our own, this qualifies as a work expense. So technically SHIELD is buying."

He leveled an unconvinced look at her, leaning back slightly. "That does not help your case. Are you sure we can't go somewhere—"

To say that the blonde looked affronted when she shushed him would be an understatement. "You're ruining the good vibes. Come on, it's our last night in DC, just relax and enjoy the food. And, you know, my company or whatever."

He glared in challenge at that, their eyes the pathway for a silent battle of will that Nicole was determined to win even if she had to order the damn oysters and force them down his throat. And as though he could read her thoughts, Steve relented with a sigh before nodding. "Alright, get 'em if you want."

Truth was, Steve probably hadn't been to a restaurant this nice before. Not that the restaurant itself was particularly high end—jeans and a t-shirt seemed to be the norm in the casual atmosphere—but she imagined that between trying to make ends meet in an economy that had been at its record low and then being sent overseas to war, there hadn't been much opportunity to go out to eat. Especially somewhere that could range to a bill easily hitting over one hundred dollars. And her friend wasn't an idiot, he no doubt realized the general ballpark of where their bill would hit and would be ordering conservatively.

Nicole was unconcerned however, because she figured that SHIELD could afford to handle one dinner for the two of them. Even if it did lean towards the fancier side.

As soon as they'd reached a common consensus their waiter swooped in—like a bird of prey—to take their orders.

"Are you two all ready to order?" He asked cheerfully, not at all looking like he'd just gotten done dealing with a particularly difficult table.

As someone who had put in their time of customer service and waitressing, Nicole could commiserate and put on her best smile. "Well, I don't know about my friend here, but I certainly am!"

He returned the expression easily, pulling out a pad of paper. "What can I get for you?"

"Well, we would love to start out with an appetizer of the oysters, the Fanny Bay's, please. And then for my entrée can I have the sirloin? Rare please." She asked sweetly, ignoring the teasing way that Steve's eyes lit up at her overly polite tones.

"Absolutely. And for you, sir?" The blonde on the other hand looked much less certain in his decision.

Nicole leaned back in her seat, drumming her fingers along the edge of the table as she resisted the urge to check her phone. It was a bad habit of the growing advances in technology, one that was more often than not at war with the ideals of common courtesy and respect that she'd been raised with. Not that she had any plans of staring at her phone during the entirety of dinner, but she was constantly worried of work needing to get ahold of her, or some catastrophe going on at home.

"Um…" Steve flipped through the menu options once more. "I'm not really sure. What would you recommend?"

"Well," The waiter—Dylan if she recalled correctly—leaned over the blonde's shoulder slightly as his eyes scanned the menu. "If you're a fan of seafood, I would recommend the citrus glazed salmon. If you're up for more of a _challenge_, the seared tenderloin and lobster tails offer the best surf and turf experience."

There was something in that tone that made Nicole look up, her face carefully controlled to project an aura of polite disinterest as her eyes picked up on every minute detail between the two men. The slight tilt of the waiter's head, the way his body was pointed directly towards Steve, the way the blonde completely arrested his attention. The way that Steve would shift his attention back and forth with the slightest close lipped smile and—oh goodness, somebody was flirting. And somebody _else_ was sort of flirting back.

This was certainly new.

"I… hmm." Steve chewed on his lip in a way that, while it might seem an innocent gesture to him had the full attention of the waiter. "I'll have to take you up on that challenge and go with the steak and lobster. Can I get mine medium rare, though?"

Nicole pressed her lips together at that; the way his blue eyes lifted and met those light green ones directly, the way he was still smirking.

She was willing to bet that before the night was over, there would be a phone number on their receipt.

"Absolutely! I'll put the orders in to the chef and bring your appetizer right out." Drawn out of her subtle observations as the waiter reached for her menu, Nicole lit up with another smile. Brown eyes were sharp as he walked away though, picking up on the inconspicuous way that Steve found his eyes following almost absently.

It made her wonder, a question forming behind her lips but remaining closed behind her teeth. It was a delicate inquiry, one that could be very difficult to word properly because she didn't want to offend her friend or make him uncomfortable.

"I have a question." Nicole broached, the words out of her mouth before she had the cognitive ability to monitor them. "I mean, you don't have to answer it if you don't want to. But I feel like if you don't answer it, that kind of answers the question and—"

"Ask your question." Steve chuckled, lifting his eyes to regard her in amusement. "Before your head pops off."

"Okay," She took a deep breath. "First off, just let me say that no matter how you answer, it's fine but… do you…?"

Her eyes flicked purposefully to where Dylan was refilling the coffee of another table. Steve followed her gaze, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Do I what?"

She took a deep breath, weighing her words carefully in her head. "It's… it's not something that was very often discussed, and I don't want you to think that there's anything wrong with your answer—it doesn't cause any issue with your masculinity or anything—but are you, ah…"

"Attracted to men?" He offered helpfully, making her mouth gape open for a second before she tactfully shut it again. "It wasn't too hard to see you leading up to that."

"That's minus one for my tact." She muttered, dragging her hand down her face. "I'm just—you don't have to answer if it makes you uncomfortable—but it's not as socially stigmatized."

"I'm aware of that, actually." Steve informed her, rubbing the back of his neck. "I, ah, was doing a bit of research after that discussion we had before we left New York."

"I see." She wanted to ask more, and Steve seemed to draw out his answer. His face was slightly tinted with color, no doubt a little uncomfortable with the turn of their conversation. While she was used to people being much more open about their sexuality and the things they were comfortable talking about, Steve had lived in a more reserved time. "Well that's all of the answer I need, you don't have to—"

"I am." He answered, the words coming out somberly. "I mean, I'm attracted to women as well—obviously—but yeah. When I was a kid, back in the twenties, people were more open with that sort of thing. It wasn't quite like _this_, but there were ways to know. Of course, by the time I realized how I really felt everyone was so obsessed with being masculine that if you weren't crazy about girls then there was something wrong with you."

She was touched that Steve was willing to share this, because she expected it to have been something that he didn't actually talk about, and not for the first time Nicole was amazed by how far their friendship had come.

"There is definitely not something wrong with you, Steve." Her face screwed up thoughtfully then. "Well, okay, no. See, you like your coffee black so that is something wrong with you. And you don't know how to use a laundry basket. I take that back, there are a lot of things wrong with you, you weirdo, but being bisexual isn't one of them."

Steve snorted at her then, looking as though he would like nothing more than to ball up his napkin and throw it at her. "Do you see that? It's the moment, and it's dying. Slowly."

"A-ha! I live up to my namesake!" The redhead cheered happily, earning a glare from the table behind her. Steve chuckled at that, unable to resist at the sheepish look on her face as she ducked her head. "Oops."

"Can't take you anywhere." The blonde muttered darkly, though the light in his eyes took any potential sting from those words. "Okay, now I have a question. And, you don't have to answer it if you don't want to… but I feel like if you don't answer it, you're answering it so—"

"Think you're so funny, don't you?" Nicole scoffed. "Ask your question, nerd-o."

"How did you know that you were demisexual?" His expression looked thoughtful, hesitant. "And what made you suspect about me?"

Now that _was _a good question. The first one anyway, the latter… "I'm a field agent, remember? I'm good at picking up small details. The waiter was obviously flirting with you, and you were being a little flirty back."

He pressed a hand to the back of his neck, thumb digging in slightly as a faint flush of color lit up his features. "That obvious?"

Nicole let out a huffing laugh, swirling the wine around her glass as her hands sought to do… something with her hands. "If you know what to look for, yeah. I mean, he's cute though, so if you need a wing man."

"I don't actually think I'm ready for that sort of thing." Steve replied honestly, leaning back in his chair as he watched her. "Hard enough figuring all of this out without throwing romance in the mix."

There was something that he wasn't saying, something quiet that spoke of heartache and in that moment Nicole was painfully reminded of Peggy Carter. Captain America's number one girl, who he had been in love with—was still in love with—and was now a grandmother. Something that she wasn't stupid enough to assume Steve wasn't aware of, and it had to twist deep inside his chest whenever he was reminded of that fact.

"As for your first question…" She took another drink of the wine, bigger than the previous sips. "I mean, going into high school all of my friends couldn't shut up about how cute Orlando Bloom was and to me… well, I just thought he was aesthetically pleasing."

Steve sat forward in interest, but Nicole kept a pensive look at the remaining liquid in her glass. "And they just kept talking about boys, and sex, especially as we got older. I just… couldn't relate. Like I thought that the boys they were talking about were attractive, yeah, but it wasn't the same. I always figured that there was something wrong with me, and I didn't really know who—or how—to talk to about it. But then, when I was seventeen, everything sort of changed."

Her eyes turned wistful, bittersweet memories lifting to the service. "I remember it well, it was a lovely July afternoon, and I was sitting with one of my best friends out by the fountain at his house. I forget what we were talking about, but I looked over and… wow. It wasn't anything special and yet it really was; I saw his profile in the sun and next thing I knew I was blushing like mad and felt warm and just wanted to kiss him."

"He was the one that… I lost in May." Those last words came out in barely a whisper, heavy and laden with tangible emotion as Nicole bit hard on the inside of her cheek. The external pain served as a brief distraction from the internalized heartache, and the redhead felt her gaze shifting when a hand closed around her own limp one.

"It always sucks losing someone you care about." Steve offered gently and she could feel the thread of empathy forming between them. Because he knew; Steve Rogers unequivocally _knew_ what it felt like to lose both friends and family.

They pulled apart when the waiter returned, carrying the plate of oysters in his hand. "Here are your oysters, and the rest of your order has already been put through to the chef. Is there anything else I can get for you folks?"

Her eyes lit up as the dish was gingerly set down between them; she had loved seafood—especially shellfish—since she had been old enough to eat it. And oysters were one of her absolute favorite, especially if they were prepared just right. So far in all of her trips to the Capital Grille, she had yet to be disappointed.

"Can I get a glass of water please?" She asked curiously, lifting her eyes briefly to meet with the waiter.

"Absolutely!" The young man turned to Steve with a slight smile. "Would you like some water as well?"

"Yes, please." The blonde nodded, eyeing the shellfish somewhat warily. Whereas Nicole was studying the dish with a much more analytical expression. One of the first main rules of eating oysters was to eat with your eyes first; and as she studied each one Nicole was pleased to note that they filled out their shells excellently, and didn't look dried out in the slightest.

Steve on the other hand looked much more apprehensive.

"Have you ever eaten oysters before?" She asked curiously, peering at her friend.

He gave an almost rueful shake of the head in response. "I have not. Dernier got us to try escargot before—snails?—but that's about as experimental as I've been with my food."

"Well," Her cheeks turned bright with the force of restrained laughter. "There is definitely a difference between eating oysters and escargot. Okay, so the thing to keep in mind is that you should always eat the first one naked so to speak."

To prove her point, Nicole selected the shell closest to her and, taking a brief moment to appreciate the pattern on the interior, brought it to her nose. "A really good oyster should smell super fresh, just like the sea. Oyster tasting is an art, you see, not unlike wine tasting."

Steve mimicked her movements, sniffing cautiously at the oyster in his hand. "I think I know what you mean."

The aroma reminded Nicole of the vacation she'd spent out in Oregon with Trip. They had _technically_ been out on an evaluated mission, but there had been enough downtime to make a stop at the ocean to go looking for shells and watch the tide. The scent, as well as the pleasant memories associated with it were one of the main reason why Fanny Bay oysters were her most preferred.

"Okay, now don't just slurp them down. Give them two to three good chews." She warned before tipping back to enjoy the appetizer. The taste itself was at first mildly briny—that was the first thing that hit you with an oyster—but as she chewed she tasted the sweetness and the cucumber finish.

It was interesting to watch the play of expressions across Steve's face as he ate his. The slight grimace as he got used to the texture, before he began chewing. Then his face turned thoughtful, contemplative and Nicole watched as he considered the taste in his mouth. She bounced slightly in her seat, taking a sip of chardonnay to accent the taste as she waited for the verdict.

"Well?" She placed the glass back on the table as he swallowed. "What do you think?"

"They're…" Steve weighed his words carefully, "not bad."

"Slimy yet satisfying?" The redhead prompted with a grin.

"Calm down there, Simba." Steve scoffed, lifting another. "But yes."

Nicole made a victorious noise in the back of her throat, pumping her fist and earning another dark look from the people behind her. This time the redhead chose to ignore it, instead going back to the appetizer. By nature Nicole had always been more of a slow eater; she liked to savor her meals and enjoy the different tastes, but with the oysters it was something else entirely. Still, with only six oysters split between the two of them it wasn't long until they were gone.

But then their entrees came and, with the exception of a little more lighthearted flirting, Steve and Nicole were left in peace to fill the time in-between bites with stories and jokes.

Such as the one she was in the middle of telling. "Anyway, so the kid gets back from the bathroom to find that his date just randomly passed out. Someone says to him, 'hey, you're her date, go get her some punch.' So he goes over to the punch table and thank god, there is no punch line."

Steve let out a disbelieving laugh that just toed the line between pitying as he sliced off another piece of steak. "That was the lamest joke I've ever heard."

"C'mon!" The redhead exclaimed in offense, "That joke is a _classic._"

"If that's the case I think it's time to put it out to pasture." He replied, pointing his fork at her absently. "I know you can do better than that."

Always willing to rise to a challenge, Nicole chewed thoughtfully. "Okay, try this one on for size blondie, it's a science joke. Helium walks into a bar and orders a beer. The bartender looks at him and says 'sorry, we don't serve noble gasses here.' He doesn't react."

Steve just looked at her, his face completely deadpanned before it cracked up into laughter so intense that after a few moments he was wiping tears out of the corner of his eyes. Nicole would be proud of herself for garnering that sort of reaction if it weren't for the fact that she was almost 100% positive that he was laughing more at her than with her.

"Oh God." Steve gasped, subsiding into near silent, shoulder shaking snickers. "I remember Bucky telling me that one when we were in middle school."

"You're killing me Rogers. I can actually feel myself shriveling up inside." Nicole groused, leaning back in her chair. "Fine. If you're so funny, wow me with a joke."

Steve finished off his steak, starting into the lobster tails as his lips pursed in concentration. "Uh… well, most of the jokes we told weren't exactly dinner table appropriate. There is one, I think, that's not too bad."

He set his fork down before wiping at his face with the napkin. "Okay, so, a boy is selling fish on a corner. To get his customers' attention, he is yelling, 'Dam fish for sale! Get your dam fish here!' A pastor hears this and asks, 'Why are you calling them 'dam fish.' The boy responds, 'Because I caught these fish at the local dam.'"

Nicole straightened in interest; she hadn't ever heard this one before. "The pastor buys a couple fish, takes them home to his wife, and asks her to cook the dam fish. The wife responds surprised, 'I didn't know it was acceptable for a preacher to speak that way.' He explains to her why they are dam fish. Later at the dinner table, he asks his son to pass the dam fish. He responds, 'That's the spirit, Dad! Now pass the fucking potatoes!'"

"That was a pretty good one!" She gasped after getting control of herself. "That one was actually great!"

Steve smiled again and they finished off their meal in a comfortable silence where they could soak up the ambient noises of surrounding conversation. Nicole felt relaxed, the good food, wine and atmosphere doing miracles to diffuse the tension that had been building up in her body since she had woken up in the parking garage. She was waiting for the other shoe to drop; since the fire she couldn't help but expect Steve to finally decide that he'd had enough and put in to have a new agent assigned to him. Or for her to face some sort of backlash from Coulson or Fury. But they'd both been incredibly kind about what had happened—which really shouldn't surprise her.

And yet, she was still waiting for… some sort of fall out.

Nicole was right in her assumption that their waiter would leave his number on their receipt, and the entire time that they were exiting the restaurant she couldn't help but wriggle her eyebrows suggestively at Steve. And then he shoved her lightly, which ended up being too much for balance that was already compromised by far more glasses of wine than she should have had.

"Hold on a second, Steve." She called, leaning against the door of her car and trying to pull her keys out. "I'm a little tipsy, you wanna drive? Can you drive?"

He nodded, prompting her to walk over to the passenger's side. "I can't actually get drunk; my body is at peak healing. I'm surprised that you can, from what Coulson said, it seems like your cells are the same way."

"Oh I can get drunk." The redhead smirked; Asgardians got drunk all the time, she was just surprised that white wine was able to affect her the way it did. "It usually takes more than this though."

Steve pulled the door open for her, waiting until she was buckled into her seat before shutting it and hurrying over to the other side. "Sure you're not just a light weight?"

"I would challenge you to a drinking contest, Rogers, but I feel like my liver would give out and die before you gave up." She growled, leaning her head back against the headrest. Nicole couldn't wait to get back to New York; she had grown quite fond of the city—and the fact that everything was within walking distance.

And while they were staying in a nice hotel with a nice bed, she missed her own room and more than that she missed Chauncey. Her mother and Jack had given her the dog after she'd graduated college, and at first Nicole had been worried that with her job as a field agent she wouldn't be able to take care of the animal. Luckily for her though, she wasn't typically sent on very long missions and when she was, she was able to leave him with a neighbor until she got back. Or, as in this instance, it was Phil that was keeping an eye on her dog and Nicole could already hear her SO complaining about the hair. And the redhead especially couldn't wait to get home and settled in her room… at least for a little bit before they left again to go visit her parents.

"Yeah, I think I would win." Steve chuckled, before letting out a slight groan and pressing his hand into his stomach. "I can't believe how good that food was."

"I love Capital Grille, so good!" Nicole agreed, rubbing her arm through her coat. "I'm gonna have a food baby."

"I ate more than you!" The blonde countered, twisting to look over his shoulder and out the rear windshield as he backed the SHIELD vehicle out. The original plan had been to take her Prius to DC—it got good mileage—but since they were leaving from the Bank, it had been simpler to nab one of the standard issue black cars.

"I'm smaller than you, Steve." She offered vaguely, brown eyes narrowed on the brightened screen of her phone. She had missed a call from Coulson, as well as receiving several texts with the insistence that she call immediately. "Hold on, I need to call Phil. Seems like something urgent is going on."

In response Steve turned the radio off, and the redhead smiled gratefully at her friend as her phone started dialing.

"Dugan." Coulson's words were somewhat clipped, not angry necessarily but pressed for time and definitely annoyed.

"Hey Phil." Her tones were apologetic nonetheless. "Sorry I missed your calls, we were out to dinner. What's up?"

"There's been a slight change of plans and we need you to stay in the city for a little while longer." Her handler answered.

Nicole received a startled look from Steve when she sat up suddenly. "Check out is tomorrow. Why could we possibly need to stay? Has something happened to the apartment?"

"No. Sorry, that came out more doom and gloom than necessary." Over the phone she heard Coulson let out a sigh, his words losing their edge. "It's actually, well, I don't know if you'll consider this better. Stark has a meeting in DC tomorrow, it's very high end and seeing as Potts will be there as well, and with the touchy subject matter, we offered a SHIELD escort."

She resisted the urge to curse. "Seeing as you're already in the city, and have worked with Stark before…"

"I hate you." She hissed half-heartedly, the palm of her hand swallowing the top of her face. "We were so close to freedom."

"I'd rather have you back up here too, Dugan. There was orange fur on my suit this morning. It's spreading." Coulson stressed. "But it might be a good chance for Captain Rogers to meet Howard's son."

"Because you know _that _is going to go swell." She cut a look over to Steve, already imagining that her friend would not end up being a huge fan of the in-your-face enigma that was Anthony Edward Stark. Nicole had met the man on several occasions over the course of her life, both professionally and through family functions and he was like an annoying big brother that she wanted to push off of a building.

"Video tape it?" Her SO offered thinly, though she imagined that she could make a quick buck off of the footage. "We're sending you an email with details, you can get the equipment that you'll need from the Triskelion."

"Oh, that's kind of you." Sarcasm dripped off of every word, and she could just imagine the half-smirk on Coulson's face. He was probably enjoying this, the bastard.

"If it helps, Ms. Potts will be there as well to run herd on him." Not that she was planning on admitting it, but that information was a little relieving.

"He has security, Phil. Why does he need SHIELD?" She complained, more than aware that she was sounding like a whiny five year old.

There was a pause on the other end, the slightest rustling of papers. Nicole could picture Coulson sitting at his desk going through paperwork as they talked. She wondered if he had his Captain America mug next to his lamp, filled with coffee. "The meetings are about SHIELD sensitive matters, regarding project PEGASUS as well as what happened in Malibu this summer."

"Ah." And with SHIELD related matters, they would want someone there to keep an eye out for SHIELD interests. Who better than one of their best diplomats? "Okay. I'll look through the files as soon as we get back."

"Good to hear. And I'm sorry about this, but Fury insisted on you." At least Phil did sound genuinely apologetic. Didn't stop her from wanting to pout though. "Get a good night's rest, you have an early start tomorrow."

Nicole could feel Steve's questioning gaze when she hung up her phone, tossing it onto the dashboard with a disgusted noise. She knew she would have to explain the situation to him, would probably do it when they got back to the hotel and she could access the email that had been sent to her. Right now however, there was only one thing really on her mind.

Shit.


End file.
